MASTERPIECES  OF 
LATIN  LITERATURE 


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OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


VIRGIL 

Rnlargcil  from  a  OMII 


MASTERPIECES  OF 
LATIN  LITERATURE 


TERENCE:    LUCRETIUS:    CATULLUS:    VIRGIL: 

HORACE:    TIBULLUS:    PROPERTIUS:    OVID: 

PETRONIUS  :     MARTIAL :     JUVENAL : 

CICERO:  CAESAR:  LIVY:  TACITUS: 

PLINY   THE   YOUNGER : 

APULEIUS 


WITH  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES  AND  NOTES 

EDITED  BY 

GORDON  JENNINGS  LAING,  PH.  D. 

ASSISTANT   PROFESSOR   OF  LATIN   IN 
THE  UNIVERSITY   OF  CHICAGO 


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CONTENTS 

[The  names  of  translators  are  given  in  italics.'] 

•MM 

INTRODUCTION vii 

TERENCE. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 1 

PHORMIO        .     .' 4 

LUCRETIUS. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH     .  63 

INVOCATION  TO  VENUS.  H.  A.  J.  Munro  ....  66 
THE  SACRIFICE  OF  IPHIGENIA.  Goldwin  Smith  .  .  .67 

ATOMS  AND  VOID.    H.  A.  J.  Munro 69 

THE  GOSPEL  ACCORDING  TO  EPICURUS.  W.  H.  Mallock  .  71 
THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  WORLD.  H.  A.  J.  Munro  ...  74 

THE  FEAR  OF  DEATH.    R.  Y.  Tyrrell 76 

THE  HONEY  OF  THE  MUSES.  H.  A.  J.  Munro  ...  77 
LOVE'S  EXTRAVAGANCE.  H.  A.  J.  Munro  .  .  .  .78 
THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN.  H.  A.  J.  Munro  ...  81 

CATULLUS. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 100 

ON   THE   DEATH   OF   LESBIA'S   SPARROW.     Sir  Theodore 

Martin 102 

DEDICATION  OF  His  PINNACE.     George  Lamb         .        .        .  103 

To  LESBIA.     Robinson  Ellis 105 

To  THE  SAME.     -Sir  Theodore  Martin 105 

To  HIMSELF,  ON  LESBIA'S  INCONSTANCY.    JR.  Y.  Tyrrell  .      106 
VAHUS'  MISTRESS.    J.  Hookhctm  Frere     .        .        .        .        .108 

To  FABULLUS.     Sir  Theodore  Martin     .        .        ...       109 

To  SIRMIO.     Leigh  Hunt   .        .        .        ...        .        .110 

To  DIANA.    R.  C.  Jebb         .        .        . ;     .        .        .        .      Ill 

To  CORNIFICIUS.     Robinson  Ellis 112 

ACME  AND  SEPTIMIUS.     Sir  Theodore  Martin        .        .        .       112 

To  LESBIA.     W.  E.  Gladstone 114 

THE  EPITHALAMIUM  OF  JULIA  AND  MANLIUS.    J.  Bookham 

Frere 115 

REMORSE.  Sir  Theodore  Martin,  R.  Y.  Tyrrell  .  .  .124 
LOVE  AND  HATB.  W.  S.  Landor 125 


iv  CONTENTS 

AT  His  BBOTHEK'S  GBAVB.     Sir  Theodore  Martin          .        .  126 
CICERO. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 127 

THE  SPEECH  FOB  CLUENTIOS.  W.  Peterson  ....  130 
FRIENDSHIP.  (From  De  Amicitia.)  Andrew  P.  Peabody  .  151 
LETTEBS.  E.  S.  Shuckburgh. 

To  l'n.  Pompeius  Magnus,  in  Asia  .....  158 
To  his  Wife  and  Family,  in  Roma  G.  E.  Jeans  .  .  160 
To  Atticus  in  Italy,  on  bis  Journey  to  Rome  .  .  .  162 

To  Caesar,  in  Gaul 163 

To  his  Brother  Quintus,  in  Gaul 165 

To  C.  Trebatius  Testa,  in  Gaul 166 

To  Atticua,  in  Rome       .........  167 

Cicero  and  his  Son  to  Terentia  and  Tullia,  in  Rome  .         .       169 

To  Atticus,  in  Rome •  171 

Servius  Sulpieins  to  Cicero,  at  Astura          ....       172 

To  Atticus,  in  Rome      .        . 176 

Cicero,  the  Younger,  to  Tiro       .        .        »        .        .        .       176 
To  Gains  Trebonius,  in  Asia  .        .        ....        .  180 

CAESAR. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH         .        .       .    j   .      , .  '     .       .      182 
THE  SIEGE  OF  ALKSIA.     T.  Bice  Holmes        .        .        .        .  184 

VIRGIL. 

BIOGBAPHICAL  SKETCH        .        .       ,«       •  '.    '..   '  •        •      198 
DAMON  AND  ALPHESIBOEUS.    Sir  Charles  Bowen    .        .        .  201 
RULES  OF  HUSBANDRY.    James  Rhoades     .,._'.        .      208 
SIGNS  OF  BAD  WEATHER.    James  Ehoades    .        .  .  210 

AFTER  CAESAB'S  DEATH.    James  Rhoades  .        .'''.'.      212 
ITALY.    James  Rhoades     .        .        .        .'.".'.        .  213 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BEES.    James  Rhoades     .        .        .      215 
AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES.    Sir  Charles  Bowen    .        .  216 
HORACE. 
BIOGBAPHICAL  SKETCH         ...        .        .        .        .        .      273 

To  LYDIA.     Sir  Theodore  Martin      .        .        .        .        .        .276 

WINTEB.     Sir  Theodore  Martin      .....        .         .       277 

To  LEUCONOE.  John  Conington  •.'  .  »  "" .  .  .  278 
To  THE  SHIP  OF  STATE.  R.  M.  Field  .  .  .  .  278 

INNOCENCE.     Sir  Theodore  Martin 280 

To  CHLOK.     Lord  Ravensworth 281 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FBIEND.     Sir  Theodore  Martin     .        .  281 

To  LYDIA.    Sir  Theodore  Martin 283 

SIMPLICITY.     W.  E.  Gladstone 284 

A  WOMAN'S  WOBD.  Lord  Ravensworth  .  .  .  .  284 
THE  GOLDEN  MEAN.  Lord  Lytton  ...  .  .  .  285 


CONTENTS  v 

A  RECONCILIATION.    Norma  Ease  Waterbury      .        .        .      286 
To  THE  SPUING  OF  BANDUBIA.    John  Conington    .        .        .  287 

To  MAECENAS.     -Sir  Stephen  de  Vere 288 

COUNTRY  LIFE.    John  Dryden 291 

A  CHALLENGE.     Lord  Lytton 294 

A  BORE.     John  Conington         .......  295 

A  LETTER  OF  INTRODUCTION.     Sir  Theodore  Martin  .        .      299 
To  His  BOOK.     Sir  Theodore  Martin 300 

TIBULLUS. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

THE  POET'S  IDEAL.    James  Grainger      .... 
A  RURAL  FESTIVAL.    James  Grainger         .... 

PROPERTIUS. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 312 

BEAUTY  UNADORNED.     Goldwin  Smith         ....      313 

To  MAECENAS.     Thomas  Gray 314 

A  CHANGE  OF  VIEW.     Thomas  Gray 318 

A  ROMAN  MATRON  TO  HER  HUSBAND.    Goldwin  Smith       .  320 

OVID. 

/  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH         . 325 

DIDO  TO  AENEAS.    Alexander  Pope 327 

PHAETHON.    Henry  King 334 

LIVY.     George  Baker. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 348 

THE  HISTORIAN'S  PREFACE 350 

THE  RAPE  OF  THE  SABINE  WOMEN 353 

HORATIUS  . 356 

BEFORE  THE  WAR 359 

HANNIBAL 360 

THE  MARCH  ACROSS  THE  ALPS 362 

THE  BATTLE  OF  CANNAE     .        .        .        .  •      .        .        .      372 

THE  CARTHAGINIANS  IN  CAPUA •.  380 

THE  END  OF  THE  WAR 381 

THE  DEATH  OF  HANNIBAL 385 

PETRONIUS. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 387 

AT  TRIMALCHIO'S  DINNER.    B.  Y.  Tyrrell     .        .        .        .389 

MARTIAL. 
BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH        .  ,     .:      .       .        .        .        .      393 

A  FRIEND.     Goldwin  Smith 394 

THE  DINER-OUT.     Goldwin  Smith 395 

A  LITERARY  HOST.    James  Elphinston 395 

A  ROMAN  DAY.     Goldwin  Smith 396 

THE  TRUE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE.     Goldwin  Smith  .  396 


vi  CONTENTS 

A  JUGGLER.    James  Elphinston 397 

DEATH  OF  A  CHARIOTEER.    Gold  win  Smith    .        .        .        .  398 

TACITUS.     Arthur  Murphy. 
BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH         .......      399 

CUSTOMS  OF  THE  GERMANS      .......  401 

THE  MUTINY  OK  THE  PANNONIAN  LEGIONS       .        .        .      410 
THE  GREAT  FIRE  AT  ROME    . 424 

JUVENAL. 
BIOGRAPHICAL,  SKETCH         .        .       .        .       .        .        .      432 

ROME.     William  Giffbrd 433 

PLINY  THE  YOUNGER.    John  B.  Firth. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 450 

To  CORNELIUS  TACITUS   .        .        .        .       .       * '       + .       .  451 

To  Sosius  SENECIO       .        .      . 452 

To  SEPTICIUS  CLARUS 453 

To  CALPUHNIA      .       .       .        .       ...        .        .      454 

To  TACITUS       .        .        .        .       .       .       .       .       .        .455 

To  SURA        .        .  460 

To  GEMINUS 464 

To  MAXIMUS  .        .        .  '     .        .        .        .        .        .        .465 

To  Fuscus        .       .       ...       .-      .       .       .       .466 

To  TRAJAN 468 

TRAJAN  TO  PLINY 471 

APULEIUS. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 472 

CUPID  AND  PSYCHE.     Walter  Pater         .        <        .        .  473 

NOTE.  —  The  several  translations  by  Goldwin  Smith  from  Lucre- 
tius, Propertius,  and  Martial  are  taken  from  his  Bay  Leaves,  by  his 
permission  and  that  of  The  Macmillan  Company,  publishers  of  the 
volume.  The  following  extracts  also  are  used  by  permission  of  The 
Macmillan  Company :  Cicero's  "  Letters,"  from  the  translation  by 
E.  S.  Shuckburgh  ;  "  The  Last  Stand  of  Vercingetorix,"  from  Caesar's 
Conquest  of  Gaul,  by  T.  Rice  Holmes;  Ode  29,  Book  III.,  from 
Sir  Stephen  de  Vere's  Odes  and  Epodes  of  Horace ;  and  "  Cupid  and 
Psyche,"  from  Marius  the  Epicurean,  by  Walter  Pater. 

The  extract  from  Andrew  Preston  Peabody's  translation  of  Cicero's 
De  Amicitia  is  printed  by  arrangement  with  Messrs.  Little,  Brown  & 
Co.,  the  publishers ;  and  the  version  of  Horace's  Ode  14,  Book  I.,  by 
permission  of  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  publishers  of  Echoes 
from  the  Sabine  Farm,  by  Eugene  and  Roswell  Martin  Field. 

Acknowledgment  is  due  also  to  Miss  Norma  II.  Waterbury  for  per- 
mission to  use  her  prize  translation  of  Horace's  Ode  0,  Book  III. 


INTRODUCTION 


IN  this  brief  introduction  an  attempt  will  be  made 
to  give  an  outline  of  the  general  tendencies  of  Latin 
literature.  The  subject  merits  some  attention,  inso- 
much as  the  emphasis  constantly  laid  upon  the  Greek 
origin  of  Roman  literary  forms  has  tended  to  obscure 
the  fact  that  the  strongest  forces  in  Latin  literature 
were  not  due  to  Greek  or  any  other  influence,  but  were 
its  own,  its  peculiar  birthright.  They  were  qualities 
derived  from  certain  inherent  characteristics  of  the 
Roman  people,  which  showed  themselves  in  the  very 
earliest  monuments  of  their  literature,  and  which  per- 
sisted throughout  its  history  in  spite  of  much  run- 
ning after  foreign  models  and,  in  more  than  one 
period,  of  an  unfavorable  social  or  political  milieu.  I 
mean  a  certain  seriousness  of  purpose,  which  found 
its  most  splendid  manifestation  in  the  expression  of 
patriotism,  in  the  glorification  of  the  duties  of  citizen- 
ship, and  in  the  construction  of  an  enduring  system 
of  law ;  and  together  with  this,  a  shrewdness  which 
enabled  them  to  see  quickly  the  different  aspects  of 
a  question,  to  be  swift  to  detect  hypocrisy  and  fraud, 
—  the  quality,  in  short,  which,  tempering  their  gravity, 
saved  it  from  being  merely  heaviness,  and  which  made 
them  natural  satirists.  It  is  the  former  characteris- 
tic that  we  find  exemplified  in  those  religious  observ- 
ances of  which  the  surviving  chants  formed  a  con- 


vih  INTRODUCTION 

stituent  part,  in  the  early  collections  of  laws,  and  in 
the  historical  records  which  the  priests  kept ;  it  was 
the  latter  that  animated  the  Fescennine  verses,  and 
formed  the  dominating  element  in  the  old  satura.  In 
the  literature  that  followed,  in  the  great  majority  of 
the  works  that  were  produced  from  the  middle  of  the 
third  century  before  Christ,  we  can  trace  one  or  other 
of  these  distinctly  Roman  tendencies. 

Of  the  first  we  have  innumerable  examples  in  the 
department  of  oratory.  This  lay  close  to  the  practice 
of  law,  and  ability  in  speaking  was  essential  to  every 
one  who  aimed  at  a  public  career.  So  important  a 
role  did  oratory  play  in  Koman  life  that  its  require- 
ments practically  controlled  the  whole  system  of  edu- 
cation from  the  end  of  the  primary  school  course,  and 
the  question  whether  any  particular  subject  should 
find  a  place  in  the  curriculum  of  the  Indus  gram- 
matici  or  of  the  schola  rhetorici  was  determined  by 
its  advantages  or  disadvantages  as  a  preliminary  to 
an  orator's  equipment.  It  is  true  that  Roman  orators 
were  trained  in  Greek  rhetorical  methods,  made  a 
careful  study  of  the  great  Greek  orators,  and  were 
familiar  with  all  the  details  of  the  battle  between  the 
Atticists  and  the  Asiatics ;  but  this,  far  from  being 
slavish  imitation,  was  only  part  and  parcel  of  their 
desire  for  efficiency,  their  earnestness  in  everything 
they  undertook.  Whatever  complex  of  influences 
may  have  been  brought  to  bear  on  Cicero's  oratorical 
style,  to  whatsoever  extent  the  form  may  be  contribu- 
tory to  the  final  effect,  it  is  as  ever  the  spirit  that 
moves,  the  spirit  of  the  Koman  filled  with  a  sense 
of  the  high  responsibility  of  office,  of  the  greatness  of 
the  Roman  people.  "  The  Senate  and  the  People  of 
Rome,"  "  the  Senate  and  the  People  of  Rome,"  —  this 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

is  the  refrain  that  recurs  again  and  again  in  all  the 
great  orations,  as  it  does  in  the  pages  of  Livy,  for 
Livy's  history  is  patriotism  writ  long,  from  the  stately 
preface  through  the  accounts  of  foreign  wars  and  in- 
ternal dissensions ;  and  the  chapters  that  more  than 
others  stir  the  blood  are  those  that  tell  of  the  heroes 
who  fought  and  died  for  their  country,  well  content 
even  at  the  cost  of  their  lives  to  have  deserved  well 
of  it. 

Virgil's  works  breathe  the  same  spirit  of  patriotism, 
his  Georgics  glorifying  Italy  with  her  mighty  rivers, 
her  cities  crowning  the  hilltops,  her  teeming  soil ;  his 
Aeneid  exalting  the  race,  descendants  of  gods  and  of 
heroes,  men  of  prayer,  yet  withal  strenuous  in  action, 
ready  to  suffer  all  things  to  attain  their  goal,  gather- 
ing new  strength  from  disaster,  believing  in  the  great- 
ness of  their  destiny,  fighting,  waiting,  enduring. 
And  in  Horace's  lyrics  we  find  from  time  to  time  the 
same  note  struck,  as  for  example  in  the  patriotic 
series  at  the  beginning  of  the  third  book.  These  are 
not,  perhaps,  the  odes  that  we  turn  to  most  frequently, 
yet  they  all  show  a  consistent  elevation.  Tibullus 
too,  with  his  love  of  fatherland,  may  be  mentioned, 
and  Propertius,  pedantic  and  self -concentrated,  but 
patriotic  still. 

Even  in  a  branch  so  directly  influenced  by  Greek 
work  as  philosophy  there  is  a  strong  infusion  of  Ro- 
man spirit.  In  this  department  the  Romans  made 
absolutely  no  original  contributions,  founded  no  new 
schools,  yet  there  is  a  sufficiently  imposing  list  of  men 
who  in  one  way  or  another  performed  signal  service. 
They  emphasized  the  practical  side  of  philosophic  doc- 
trine, made  plain  the  drift  of  the  teaching  of  this  or 
that  school,  and  brought  philosophy  down  from  the 


x  INTRODUCTION 

clouds  to  dwell  among  men.  In  Lucretius'  Da  Rerum 
Natura  we  have,  so  far  as  the  subject  matter  goes, 
nothing  more  than  an  exposition  of  the  theory  of 
Epicurus,  but  in  the  intense  seriousness  with  whicli 
the  poet  points  out  the  practical  bearing  of  the  creed 
and  its  great  importance  for  the  conduct  of  life,  the 
tone  of  the  work  is  essentially  Roman ;  and  it  is  to 
this  very  Roman  element  that  it  owes  its  tremendous 
vigor  of  presentation,  its  glowing  portrayal  of  the 
blessings  of  Epicureanism.  Widely  different  from 
the  method  of  Lucretius  is  that  which  Cicero  adopted 
in  his  philosophical  works,  in  which  we  find  urbanity 
instead  of  vehemence,  and  a  tolerant  eclecticism  in- 
stead of  the  dogmatic  teaching  of  a  single  creed.  Yet 
there  are  some  points  of  similarity  between  the  two  in 
that  Cicero  also  aimed  at  making  Greek  philosophy 
accessible  to  the  Romans,  and  he  too  laid  stress  upon 
the  value  of  literary  form  as  an  element  of  success. 
He  did  succeed,  not  only  in  his  own  day  but  in  later 
centuries  as  well,  when  his  writings  were  the  princi- 
pal medium  through  which  Greek  philosophy  became 
known  to  western  Europe. 

Other  writers,  other  fields,  other  periods  might  be 
drawn  upon  for  further  illustration  of  the  serious 
practical  trend  of  the  Roman  mind,  as  for  example 
that  great  mass  of  legal  lore  which,  accumulating 
year  after  year  for  centuries,  found  a  final  codification 
under  Justinian,  a  Krrjfw.  e«  det,  the  foundation  of  all 
modern  law;  or  those  writings  in  which  agriculture 
had  a  long  series  of  exponents,  ranging  from  the  dry 
didacticism  of  Cato  to  the  poetic  elevation  of  Virgil's 
Georgics.  Nor  can  I  refrain  from  mentioning  that 
sacred  band,  among  whose  ranks  oven  so  great  a 
personage  as  Julius  Caesar  has  a  place,  the  Roman 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

grammarians,  who,  zealous  and  acute,  albeit  sometimes 
misguided,  exorcised  the  spirits  of  many  a  problem 
of  tense  and  mood,  of  long  and  short,  —  ghosts  that 
have  even  to  this  day  wandered  restlessly  over  the 
world,  refusing  to  be  laid,  although  more  than  the 
traditional  three  handfuls  of  dust  have  been  thrown 
upon  their  remains. 

The  satirical  vein  was  steadily  productive,  appear- 
ing either  deliberately,  of  set  purpose  and  intent,  in 
writings  aimed  at  various  abuses,  or  incidentally  in 
works  of  heavier  calibre.  It  is  represented,  as  we 
have  seen,  in  such  remnants  as  we  have  of  the  early 
literature.  It  found  exuberant  vent  in  the  comedies 
of  Plautus,  and  in  a  modified  form  enlivened  the  plays 
of  Terence.  In  Lucilius  it  attained  to  full  and  free 
expression,  and  his  fearlessness  and  vigor  of  attack, 
his  keenness  of  vision  and  rapidity  of  execution  became 
proverbial.  Unfortunately  he  is  not  known  to  us  ex- 
cept in  fragments  of  his  works  and  through  the  refer- 
ences of  other  writers,  but  we  have  enough  to  see  that 
he  was  singularly  virile  of  mind  and  facile  of  pen. 
As  trenchant  as  he  was  merciless,  he  showed  in  his 
attacks  on  vice  in  high  places  a  range  of  conception 
that  does  not  remind  us  of  a  literature  in  the  making. 
His  technique  was  rude,  as  Augustan  critics  noted, 
but  its  rudeness  or  crudeness  served  in  many  cases  to 
point  the  asperity  of  his  invective. 

Nor  is  satire  wanting  in  the  best  of  the  later  repub- 
lican literature.  It  gave  a  Lucilian  edge  to  more 
than  one  poem  of  Catullus,  made  the  dicta  of  Caesar 
famous,  was  the  salt  of  Cicero's  orations,  in  urbane 
guise  one  of  the  charms  of  his  letters. 

Emergent  still  under  the  Empire  it  manifested 
within  Horace's  own  work  a  striking  development. 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

Conventional  at  first  and  having  more  than  a  modi- 
cum of  the  old  personal  element,  it  presently  adopted 
broader  methods,  and  by  its  substitution  of  types  for 
individuals,  by  its  potentialities  of  suggestion,  its  crea- 
tion of  atmosphere,  it  gained  in  subtlety  what  it  lost 
in  directness,  and  succeeded  by  its  very  lightness,  its 
elusiveness,  its  lack  of  insistence.  In  Persius  we  have 
a  tortured  imitation  of  the  same  form,  with  frequent 
echoes  of  Horace,  but  broken  echoes  only.  The  style 
is  recondite  and  obscure.  Much  studied  and  over 
elaborated,  it  smells  of  the  lamp.  The  poet's  whole 
manner,  with  its  many  phrases  of  but  doubtful  mean- 
ing, its  hazy  situations  and  invisible  transitions,  shows 
that  he  wrote  for  an  age  which  could  be  impressed 
only  by  the  unusual. 

Of  a  different  ilk  is  the  satire  of  Petronius,  coming 
not  out  of  the  schools,  but  seeming  to  spring  from  the 
ground  soil  of  Italy.  Spontaneous  and  exuberant,  it 
teems  with  broad  characterizations  and  realistic  pic- 
tures of  low  life.  Elaborate  descriptions  of  petty  inci- 
dents are  set  off  by  the  introduction  of  the  quaint  idiom 
of  popular  speech  with  its  proverbs,  its  slang,  its  many 
expressions  of  mingled  simplicity  and  shrewdness. 

Later  times  furnish  us  with  still  further  examples 
of  this  race  tendency  to  satire.  We  see  it  highly 
developed  in  the  writings  of  the  historian  Tacitus, 
who  was  in  some  respects  most  Roman  of  them  all, 
—  of  more  than  Roman  gravity,  of  more  than  Roman 
keenness  of  satire,  a  man  of  republican  ideals  living 
in  an  age  which  had  seen  tyranny.  We  find  it  in 
Juvenal,  whose  style,  strongly  influenced  by  the  stand- 
ards of  the  public  readings,  is  one  of  boundless  vehe- 
mence, showing  many  vivid  word-pictures  and  brilliant 
sententiae.  His  rhetoric  is  sometimes  pompous,  on 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

occasion  even  blatant,  and  his  expression  not  infre- 
quently transcends  his  feeling,  yet  on  the  whole  there 
seems  to  be  a  reasonably  solid  substratum  of  convic- 
tion. In  Martial  the  satire  is  less  pretentious,  but 
there  is  no  lack  of  effectiveness  in  his  sharp  attacks 
on  contemporary  conditions  of  life,  his  innumerable 
snapshots  at  the  social  farrago. 

It  is  then  in  the  great  orations,  the  histories,  the 
national  epic,  the  patriotic  lyrics,  the  practical  expo- 
sitions of  philosophic  systems,  the  codes  of  law  on  the 
one  hand,  and  in  the  satirical  writings  on  the  other, 
that  we  get  the  purest  traditions  of  the  trend  of 
Roman  intellectual  activity.  In  the  former  we  have 
varying  manifestations  of  that  seriousness  of  purpose 
which  the  Romans  themselves  called  gravitas,  in  the 
latter  the  output  of  that  satira  which  was  wholly 
theirs,  —  qualities  which  after  all  are  not  so  much  dis- 
tinct as  different  aspects  of  the  same  character,  for 
seriousness  of  purpose  may  reasonably  enough  be  said 
to  imply  some  degree  of  sensitiveness,  and  satire  in  its 
best  form  is  the  protest  of  wounded  ideals. 

The  whole  muster,  it  might  seem,  shows  a  woeful 
lack  of  productiveness  along  the  higher  lines  of  ima- 
ginative writing,  but  if  we  turn  from  the  arid  list  of 
departments  to  the  contents  of  the  most  representa- 
tive works,  the  first  impression  is  materially  modified. 
It  was  only  an  imagination  of  rare  power  that  could 
make  a  poem  on  the  atomic  theory  of  Epicurus  so 
great  a  masterpiece  as  the  De  Rerum  Natura  of 
Lucretius.  In  it  are  descriptions  that  range  from 
the  exquisiteness  of  imagery  to  be  found  in  the  pic- 
ture of  the  abodes  of  the  gods,  "  where  never  creeps 
a  cloud  or  moves  a  wind,"  to  the  Dantesque  horrors 
of  the  Inferno  that  he  did  not  believe  in.  Here  we 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

have  lines  that  sound  with  the  clash  of  struggling  bat- 
talions, there  the  perfect  quiet  of  a  lonely  hillside  ; 
now  the  peace  and  plenty  of  vineyards  and  olive- 
yards,  now  battle-fields  that  show,  like  a  picture  by 
Verestchagin,  the  grisly  realities  of  war.  His  is  not 
the  restraint  of  later  art,  but  the  storm  of  undisci- 
plined power,  seeing  every  detail  in  the  white  light 
of  his  own  imagination,  and  painting  it  as  he  saw  it. 
Virgil  has  less  power,  but  his  art  is  subtler,  his  work- 
manship finer,  and  although  the  themes  of  many  of 
his  pictures  are  drawn  from  Homer,  the  composition, 
the  details,  the  atmosphere  are  of  his  own  creating. 
His  poems  abound  in  golden  words  and  phrases,  in 
lines  of  an  exaltation  that  could  be  found  only  in  one 
who  stood  on  the  higher  plane  of  poesy,  who  had 
been  touched  by  the  divine  afflatus.  He  was  the  inter- 
preter of  the  muses,  the  vates,  the  inspired  seer. 

There  were  ventures  in  divers  other  fields ;  and  even 
if  these  constitute  only  a  minor  part  of  the  message 
which  Roman  literature  has  brought  to  the  world, 
they  are  none  the  less  of  abiding  interest,  not  simply 
as  so  many  indications  of  the  different  influences  that 
bore  on  the  evolution  of  literature  and  of  society,  but 
by  reason  of  their  intrinsic  worth.  In  lyric  poetry, 
for  example,  besides  the  patriotic  odes  of  Horace  we 
have  by  the  same  hand  many  other  pieces,  of  lighter 
tone  and  not  always  showing  the  elevation  of  the 
true  lyric,  yet  of  enduring  charm,  winning  us  by  their 
very  restraint,  by  their  perfect  artistic  form,  their 
many  successes  of  phrase  and  line,  their  good  humor, 
their  kindly  philosophy ;  and  Catullus,  his  predeces- 
sor, of  more  spontaneous  utterance,  more  passionate, 
of  greater  intensity,  of  rare  depth  of  feeling  and  sin- 
cerity of  expression.  In  elegy,  too,  the  Romans  were 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

conspicuously  successful.  This  was  a  favorite  medium 
of  emotional  expression,  and  shows  a  wide  range  of 
tone  in  the  different  works  of  Tibullus,  Propertius,  and 
Ovid.  In  pastoral  poetry  there  are  the  Eclogues  of 
Virgil,  which,  with  all  their  inconsistencies  of  scenery 
and  not  infrequent  political  drift,  rank  with  the  best 
of  his  work.  In  epistolography  the  Letters  of  Cicero 
are  an  exemplar  of  the  best  Latin  style  with  its  toga 
off ;  while  the  correspondence  of  Pliny,  an  imitation 
of  them,  furnishes  us  with  many  glimpses  of  a  person- 
ality that,  even  if  not  constructed  on  a  large  plan,  is 
not  without  its  interesting  sides.  Nor  is  fiction  alto- 
gether wanting,  as  the  Satirae  of  Petronius  bear  wit- 
ness, and  a  hundred  years  later  the  Golden  Ass  of 
Apuleius,  which  gives  us  both  by  content  and  by  style 
signs  manifest  that  the  old  order  of  things  was  at  an 
end. 

Of  strictly  original  dramatic  composition  there  was 
but  little.  In  consideration  of  their  satirical  tenden- 
cies it  might  have  been  expected  that  native  Roman 
comedy  would  have  flourished.  The  work  done,  more- 
over, by  Plautus  and  Terence  in  the  adaptation  of 
Greek  plays  shows  clearly  that  vis  comica  was  not 
lacking.  Yet  at  a  comparatively  early  period  we  find 
legitimate  comedy  hardly  able  to  hold  its  own  against 
the  mime  and  other  doubtful  forms  of  comic  enter- 
tainment. Neither  can  the  Romans  be  said  to  have 
succeeded  in  tragedy.  It  is  true  that  the  adaptations 
of  Greek  tragedies  which  the  first  wave  of  Hellenism 
brought  with  it  seem  to  have  had,  to  a  very  consider- 
able extent,  dignity  of  characterization  and  dramatic 
effectiveness.  This  is  the  judgment  of  Quintilian, 
and  the  fragments  that  remain  confirm  it.  Yet  the 
later  examples,  the  plays  of  Seneca  written  in  the 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

age  of  Nero,  show  that  even  at  that  date  tragedy 
had  not  escaped  from  its  Greek  leading-strings.  Here 
again  we  have  the  same  old  themes  of  Greek  mythology, 
and  such  changes  of  manner  as  we  find  in  the  intro- 
duction of  lurid  details  and  melodramatic  situations, 
in  the  constant  striving  for  epigrammatic  and  senten- 
tious effects,  do  not  make  for  an  increase  in  strength. 
The  fundamental  cause  of  this  failure  in  the  higher 
forms  of  dramatic  expression  is  probably  to  be  found 
in  the  Roman  lack  of  creative  power  in  art.  This 
resulted  in  the  production  of  plays  which,  adhering 
closely  to  Greek  models,  failed  by  the  very  remote- 
ness of  their  subjects  to  hold  audiences  which  were, 
for  the  most  part,  of  a  low  grade  of  culture,  and  whose 
interest  in  gladiatorial  and  similar  exhibitions,  part 
of  their  heritage  as  a  fighting  people,  was  encouraged 
more  and  more  by  the  ruling  class. 

In  the  selections  that  follow  an  attempt  has  been 
made  to  give  a  representation  of  Latin  literature 
in  English  translations.  That  some  authors,  some 
works  that  might  reasonably  be  looked  for  are  not 
represented  is  due  either  to  lack  of  space  or  to  the 
fact  that  there  are  no  good  translations  of  them. 
Plautus,  for  example,  does  not  appear,  for  the  reason 
that,  only  a  certain  amount  of  space  being  available 
for  comedy,  it  seems  probable  that  one  play  printed 
in  its  entirety  will  give  a  better  idea  of  the  class  to 
which  it  belongs  than  shorter  selections  from  differ- 
ent authors.  The  Phormio  of  Terence  has  accord- 
ingly the  double  function  of  representing  both  its  au- 
thor and  the  type  known  as  the  Fdbula  Pcdliata.  This 
plan  of  giving  selections  of  considerable  length  and 
of  as  much  integrity  as  possible  has  been  followed 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

throughout.  In  Lucretius,  the  last  part  of  the  fifth 
book  is  the  piece  de  resistance ;  in  Virgil  the  sixth 
book  of  the  Aeneid ;  in  Cicero,  for  the  orations  the 
second  division  of  the  Pro  Cluentio,  for  the  philoso- 
phical works  a  portion  of  the  De  Amicitia  ;  in  Livy, 
a  series  of  chapters  dealing  with  the  career  of  Han- 
nibal from  his  operations  in  Spain  to  his  death  in 
Bithynia.  Where  an  author  worked  in  several  de- 
partments, these  are  represented,  so  far  as  their  re- 
presentation has  been  found  to  be  compatible  with  the 
general  plan  of  giving  long  selections.  In  the  case 
of  Cicero's  orations  one  of  the  political  speeches  would 
have  been  preferred,  but  the  Pro  Cluentio  has  been 
substituted  on  account  of  the  merit  of  the  translation. 
In  a  few  instances,  where  the  translator's  rendering 
seems  somewhat  more  literal  than  the  purpose  of  the 
book  requires,  changes  have  been  made,  for  which  the 
editor  is  solely  responsible.  Where  the  original  is  in 
verse,  metrical  translations  have  been  regularly  used, 
the  only  exceptions  being  the  Phormio,  where  the  ver- 
sion of  the  Roman  Society  of  London  has  been  drawn 
upon,  and  parts  of  Lucretius,  where  Munro's  transla- 
tion has  been  given.  Throughout  the  book  the  aim  has 
been  to  give  the  best  translation,  irrespective  of  the 
name  or  fame  of  the  translator,  and  the  fact  that  the 
renderings  of  the  famous  classicists  of  the  eighteenth 
century  have  been  very  sparingly  used  is  due  to  their 
seeming  to  be  inferior  to  the  more  modern  work. 

GORDON  JENNINGS  LAING. 
August  1, 1903. 


TERENCE 


A  NATIVE  of  Carthage,  born  about  190  B.  c.,  Terence 
came  at  an  early  age  to  Rome,  where  from  the  lowly  posi- 
tion of  a  slave  in  one  of  the  patrician  households  he  rose  to 
distinction  as  one  of  the  great  representatives  of  Roman 
comedy.  He  belonged  to  the  literary  clique  known  as  the 
Scipionic  circle,  of  which  the  younger  Scipio  Africanus  was 
the  most  conspicuous  figure,  and  which  included  among  oth- 
ers Laelius,  whom  Cicero  afterwards  made  the  principal 
interlocutor  in  his  dialogue  On  Friendship,  Polybius  the 
historian,  Panaetius  the  Stoic  philosopher,  Philus,  and  Me- 
tellus,  —  all  of  them  men  of  broad  culture  and  deeply  im- 
bued with  a  love  of  Greek  literature. 

His  literary  activity  was  confined  to  the  production  of 
palliatae,  comedies  the  scenes  of  which  were  laid  in  Greece, 
and  which  obtained  their  name  from  the  fact  that  the  person- 
ages represented  wore  the  Greek  pallium.  They  were  not 
original  compositions,  but  were  based  on  plays  of  Menan- 
der  (342-292  B.  c.),  and  other  dramatists  of  the  so-called 
New  Attic  Comedy,  who,  differing  essentially  in  their  aims 
from  the  playwrights  of  the  Old  Attic  Comedy,  avoided 
politics,  and  devoted  themselves  to  the  portrayal  of  social 
life.  Their  comedies  were  comedies  of  manners.  In  a 
majority  of  the  plays  the  central  interest  is  a  love  intrigue 
of  more  or  less  doubtful  morality.  The  same  types  of  char- 
acter recur  again  and  again  :  the  tearful  lover,  the  damsel 
in  distress,  the  unscrupulous  parasite,1  the  intriguing  slave, 

1  The  hanger-on,  who  in  return  for  his  support,  assisted  his  patron  in 
questionable  transactions. 


2  TERENCE 

the  choleric  old  man,  the  guileful  courtesan,  the  jealous 
wife,  the  shameless  slave-trader,  the  thieving  and  insolent 
cook. 

The  Phormio  is  representative  of  the  class.  It  bears  the 
name  of  the  parasite,  through  whose  intrigues  the  action 
is  carried  on.  Two  brothers,  Chremes  and  Demipho,  had 
gone  abroad,  leaving  their  sons,  Phaedria  and  Antipho  re- 
spectively, in  the  care  of  Geta,  a  slave.  He,  however, 
instead  of  obeying  the  fathers'  instructions,  proceeded  to 
abet  the  sons  in  their  evil  courses,  and  presently  both  of 
them  were  entangled  in  love  affairs  of  distressing  complex- 
ity. Phaedria  fell  desperately  in  love  with  a  music  girl, 
Pamphila,  who  was  owned  by  Dorio,  a  slave-trader,  and  for 
whose  release  thirty  minae  1  were  requisite  ;  while  Antipho 
married  an  orphan,  Phanium  by  name,  quieting  her  guar- 
dian's objections  by  collusion  with  Phormio,  who  summoned 
him  into  court  and  charged  him  with  being  her  next  of  kin, 
and  so,  by  Athenian  law,  under  obligation  to  marry  her.  It 
is  at  this  point  that  the  play  opens.  Phormio  is  confronted 
by  two  problems  :  to  reconcile  Antipho's  father  to  the 
marriage,  and  to  get  the  thirty  minae  for  Phaedria.  In 
the  latter  case  he  is  successful  through  his  own  efforts ;  in 
the  former,  chance  favors  him.  Demipho,  on  returning  to 
Athens,  is  very  angry  at  what  his  son  has  done,  and  declares 
that  he  will  never  recognize  the  marriage.  After  much 
wrangling,  Phormio  agrees  to  take  her  off  his  hands,  and 
marry  her  himself,  provided  he  be  given  thirty  minae.  The 
money  is  forthcoming,  and  Phormio  promptly  uses  it  to 
purchase  the  music  girl  for  Phaedria.  It  then  transpires 
that  Phanium,  instead  of  being  poor  and  unknown,  is  the 
daughter  of  Chremes  by  a  secret  marriage,  and  there  is  no 
further  objection  to  her  as  a  wife  for  Antipho.  Chremes, 
whose  double  life  has  been  exposed,  is  not  in  a  position  to 
treat  Phaedria  harshly,  and  so  all  ends  happily. 

Besides  the  Phormio,  five  other  plays  of  Terence  have 

1  About  $540. 


TERENCE  3 

come  down  to  us  :  The  Maid  of  Andros,  The  Self- Tor- 
mentor, The  Eunuch,  The  Brothers,  and  The  Mother-in- 
Law.  All  of  them  were  produced  between  166  and  160 
B.  0.  The  poet  died  in  the  following  year. 

His  work  shows  little  or  no  originality.  He  followed  his 
Greek  masters  closely,  confining  himself  indeed  to  two, 
Menander  and  Apollodorus,  the  most  careful  workers  of 
the  school.  Far  from  feeling  this  lack  of  creative  power 
as  a  defect,  he  prided  himself  on  the  faithfulness  and  accu- 
racy with  which  he  reproduced  his  originals.  The  titles 
of  all  his  plays  are  Greek,  the  names  of  all  his  characters 
are  Greek,  and  there  are  few,  if  any,  allusions  to  Roman 
customs  or  institutions.  Only  in  one  respect  did  he  treat 
his  sources  more  freely  than  Plautus,  his  predecessor  in  the 
same  field,  and  that  was  in  the  use  of  the  device  known  as 
contamination,  the  welding  of  the  plots  or  parts  of  the 
plots  of  two  or  more  plays  into  one.  Comparing  him  with 
Plautus  along  other  lines,  while  we  miss  the  rollicking, 
boisterous  merriment  of  the  earlier  playwright,  there  is  a 
decided  advance  in  the  direction  of  more  polished  dialogue, 
more  careful  characterization,  a  more  artistic  construction 
of  plot.  In  the  matter  of  diction  the  contrast  is  still  more 
striking.  In  Plautus  we  find  the  language  of  the  street, 
but  Terence  used  that  of  the  salon,  and  its  exquisite  purity 
has  been  the  admiration  of  both  ancient  and  modern  critics- 


4  TERENCE 

PHORMIO 
CHARACTERS. 

DAVCS,  a  slave. 
GETA,  a  slave  of  Demipho. 
ANTIPHO,  a  young  man,  son  of  Demipho. 
PHAEDRIA,  a  young  man,  son  of  Chremes. 
DEMIPHO,  an  old  man. 
%    PHORMIO,  a  parasite. 
HEGIO,       \ 

CRATINCS,  >  advisers  of  Demipho. 
CRITO,        ) 
DORIO,  a  slave-trader. 
CHREMES,  an  old  man,  brother  of  Demipho. 
SOPHRONA,  a  nurse. 

NAUSISTRATA,  a  matron,  wife  of  Chremes. 
A  Cantor. 

SCENE  :  A  street  in  Athens.  In  the  background  the  houses  of 
CHREMES,  DEMIPHO,  and  DORIO.  The  scene  remains  the  same 
throughout  the  play. 

ACT  I. 

SCENE  1. 
Enter  DAVUS,  carryiny  a  bag  of  money. 

Davus.  My  great  friend  and  countryman,  Geta, 
came  to  see  me  yesterday.  I  had  owed  him  a  trifling 
sum  for  a  long  time,  the  balance  of  a  small  account, 
and  he  asked  me  to  get  it  for  him.  I  have  done  so, 
and  am  bringing  it  with  me.  I  hear  that  his  master's 
son  has  married  a  wife,  and  it  is  for  her,  I  suppose, 
that  this  money  is  being  scraped  together.  How  un- 
fair it  is  that  the  poor  should  always  have  to  be  add- 
ing to  the  treasures  of  the  rich  !  This  girl  will  carry 
off  at  one  swoop  everything  that  he,  poor  fellow,  has 
saved  with  such  difficulty  and  self-denial,  out  of  his 


PHORMIO  6 

allowance,  nor  will  she  give  a  thought  to  the  trou- 
ble he  had  in  procuring  it.  They  '11  beat  him  out  of 
another  contribution  when  she  has  a  baby,  and  an- 
other when  the  baby  has  a  birthday,  and  another  when 
it  is  initiated.  The  mother  will  take  it  all :  the  child 
will  simply  be  the  pretext  for  the  presents.  But  I 
think  I  see  Geta. 

SCENE  2. 

Enter  GET  A,  from  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

Geta  (speaking  to  some  one  within).  If  a  red- 
headed fellow  should  ask  for  me  — 

Davus.    Here  he  is,  you  needn't  go  on. 

Geta.   Oh,  I  was  looking  for  you,  Davus. 

Davus  (giving  him  the  bag^).  There  !  Take  it,  it's 
good  money.  You  '11  find  that  it 's  just  the  amount 
of  the  debt. 

Geta.  Thank  you.  I  'm  very  much  obliged  to  you 
for  not  having  forgotten  me. 

Davus.  You  well  may  be,  especially  when  you  con- 
sider how  people  act  now-a-days.  One  has  to  take  it 
as  a  great  favor  if  anybody  pays  what  he  owes.  But 
why  do  you  look  so  sad  ? 

Geta.  Why,  don't  you  know  what  terrible  trouble 
we  're  in  ? 

Davus.   No.     What  is  it? 

Geta.  I'll  tell  you,  provided  you  can  hold  your 
tongue. 

Davus.  What  a  simpleton  you  are !  After  proving 
a  man's  reliability  in  money  matters,  are  you  afraid  to 
trust  him  with  words  ?  What  is  there  in  it  for  me  to 
deceive  you  ? 

Geta.    Well,  listen,  then. 

Davus.   I  'm  all  attention. 


6  TERENCE 

Geta.  Do  you  know  Chremes,  my  old  master's 
elder  brother  ? 

Davus.    Of  course  I  do. 

Geta.    Well,  do  you  know  his  son,  Phaedria  ? 

Davus.    As  well  as  I  know  you. 

Geta.  It  happened  that  both  the  old  gentlemen 
had  to  go  abroad  at  the  same  time  :  Chremes  to  Lem- 
nos,  and  my  master  to  an  old  friend  in  Cilicia,  who 
had  written  to  him,  holding  out  tempting  prospects  of 
all  but  mountains  of  gold. 

Davus.   What !  to  him  who  had  so  much  ! 

Geta.     Never  mind,  that 's  his  way. 

Davus.  Oh,  it 's  I  who  ought  to  have  been  a  rich 
man. 

Geta.  Both  these  old  gentlemen,  when  they  went 
away,  left  me  as  a  sort  of  guardian  to  their  sons. 

Davus.   A  hard  office,  Geta  ! 

Geta.  So  I  have  found  by  experience.  My  pro- 
tecting deity  must  have  been  angry  with  me  when  I 
was  left  in  charge.  At  first  I  began  to  check  them  ; 
but  why  make  a  long  story  of  it  ?  So  long  as  I  was 
faithful  to  the  old  gentlemen,  my  shoulders  ached  for 
it.  I  remembered  the  proverb  about  the  folly  of  kick- 
ing against  the  pricks.  I  began  to  humor  them  and 
to  do  whatever  they  wanted. 

Davus.   You  know  how  to  suit  your  market. 

Geta.  My  young  master  did  not  get  into  any  mis- 
chief at  first,  but  Phaedria  straightway  got  hold  of  a 
little  music  girl,  and  fell  head  over  heels  in  love  with 
her.  She  belonged  to  a  brutal  slave-trader.  Phae- 
dria had  n't  a  penny  to  give  for  her  —  his  father  had 
seen  to  that  —  so  all  he  could  do  was  to  feast  his  eyes 
on  her,  dangle  after  her,  and  escort  her  to  her  music 
lesson  and  home  again.  The  rest  of  us  had  plenty 


PHORMIO  7 

of  time  on  our  hands,  and  used  to  accompany  him. 
Now  there  was  a  barber  shop  opposite  the  school 
where  she  took  her  lessons,  and  we  generally  waited 
there  till  she  was  ready  to  go  home.  One  day  a  young 
fellow  came  in  crying.  Surprised,  we  asked  him  what 
was  the  matter.  "Never  before,"  said  he,  "has  pov- 
erty seemed  to  rne  so  cruel  and  hard.  I  've  just  seen 
a  maiden  in  this  neighborhood  weeping  for  her  dead 
mother,  who  was  buried  right  opposite.  The  girl  had 
no  friend,  acquaintance,  or  kinsman  —  nobody  but  one 
old  woman,  to  help  her  bury  her  mother.  I  felt  for 
her  ;  she  was  such  a  stunning-looking  girl !  "  Why 
make  a  long  story  ?  He  moved  us  all  to  compassion. 
"  Had  n't  we  better  go  and  see  her  ?  "  said  Antipho. 
"  I  think  so,"  said  some  one  else ;  "  show  us  the 
way,  please."  We  set  out,  reached  the  place,  saw  her. 
She  was  beautiful,  and  there  was  all  the  more  cer- 
tainty about  it  because  she  had  nothing  to  set  off 
her  beauty :  hair  dishevelled  —  feet  bare  —  untidy  — 
weeping  —  shabbily  dressed.  Her  beauty  had  to  be 
brilliant  indeed,  not  to  be  eclipsed  by  all  that.  Phae- 
dria  merely  said,  "  She  's  not  bad  looking,"  but  my 
young  master  — 

Davus.   I  know.     He  fell  in  love  with  her. 

Geta.  Yes,  but  do  you  know  how  deeply  ?  Listen 
to  what  happened.  Next  day  he  went  straight  to 
the  old  woman,  and  implored  her  to  let  him  have  the 
girl.  She  refused,  and  said  that  what  he  asked  was 
not  right ;  that  the  girl  was  a  citizen  of  Athens,  a 
good  girl  of  a  good  family.  If  he  wanted  her  for  his 
wife,  she  would  agree  to  his  marrying  her  legally ;  if 
not,  she  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  My 
young  master  did  n't  know  what  to  do ;  he  wanted  to 
marry  her,  but  he  feared  his  father. 


8  TERENCE 

Davits.  Would  n't  his  father,  on  his  return,  have 
forgiven  him  ? 

Geta.  What !  He  forgive  him  for  marrying  a  low- 
born, dowerless  girl?  Never. 

Davus.  What  was  the  outcome  of  it  ? 

Geta.  The  outcome  of  it  ?  There 's  a  parasite 
named  Phormio,  an  impudent  fellow,  the  gods  con- 
found him ! 

Davus.  What  did  he  do  ? 

Geta.  He  gave  Antipho  this  advice :  "  It 's  the 
law  that  orphan  girls  must  marry  their  next  of  kin, 
and  this  same  law  commands  their  next  of  kin  to 
marry  them.  Now,  I'll  declare  you  to  be  next  of 
kin,  and  will  bring  an  action  against  you.  I  '11  pre- 
tend to  be  a  friend  of  the  girl's  father.  The  matter 
will  come  before  a  jury  ;  I'll  invent  the  whole  story 
about  who  her  father  and  mother  were,  and  how  she 
is  related  to  you ;  and  well  shall  I  serve  my  own  in- 
terest by  so  doing.  You  '11  make  no  defence  to  any 
of  these  charges,  and  I  '11  win  the  case.  Your  father 
will  come  home.  I  '11  have  a  law-suit  on  my  hands. 
But  what  difference  will  that  make  to  me  ?  The  girl 
will  be  ours." 

Davus.  What  consummate  impudence  ! 

Geta.  He  got  the  young  fellow's  consent,  and  it 
was  done ;  we  went  into  court  —  lost  our  case  —  he 
married  her. 

Davus.  You  don't  say  so ! 

Geta.  Yes,  I  do. 

Davus.  Oh,  Geta !  what  will  become  of  you  ? 

Geta.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know ;  all  I  know  is  that 
I  '11  bear  patiently  whatever  may  befall. 

Davus.  I  like  that ;  that 's  the  way  a  man  should 
act. 


PHORMIO  9 

Geta.  My  only  hope  is  in  myself. 

Davus.  That 's  right. 

Geta.  However,  I  suppose  that  I  must  go  to  an 
intercessor,  who  will  plead  for  me  in  this  way :  "  Let 
him  off  just  this  once,  I  pray  you  ;  if  he  offends  again, 
I  '11  not  intercede  for  him."  Lucky  if  he  does  not 
add,  "  As  soon  as  my  back  is  turned,  kill  him,  for  all 
I  care." 

Davus.  How  about  the  young  fellow  who  was  so 
attentive  to  the  music  girl  ?  How  is  he  getting  on  ? 

Geta.  But  so  so,  poorly. 

Davus.  Has  n't  much  to  give  her,  perhaps  ? 

Geta.  Nothing  but  unalloyed  hope. 

Davus.  Has  his  father  returned  ? 

Geta.  Not  yet. 

Davus.  When  do  you  expect  your  old  master  back  ? 

Geta.  I  don't  know  for  certain,  but  I  heard  just 
now  that  a  letter  had  come  from  him,  and  had  been 
taken  to  the  custom-house  officers ; l  I  '11  go  and  ask 
for  it. 

Davus.  Can  I  be  of  any  further  service,  Geta  ? 

Geta.  No,  good-by.  [Exit  DAVUS.  GETA  calls 
to  slave  within.]  Hi,  boy !  Is  no  one  ever  coming  ? 
[Enter  a  slave.  GETA  gives  him  the  bag.~\  Here, 
give  this  to  Dorcium.2  [Exit. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  1. 
Enter  ANTIPHO  and  PnAEDRiA/rom  CHREMES'  house. 

• 

Antipho.  To  think,  Phaedria,  that  it  should  have 
come  to  this  ;  that  I  should  be  afraid  of  him  who  has 

1  They  collected  the  port  duties,  and  had  the  right  to  open  letters. 
8  Geta's  wife. 


10  TERENCE 

my  interest  most  at  heart,  my  own  father,  whenever 
I  think  of  his  return  !  Had  I  not  been  thoughtless,  I 
should  have  been  looking  forward  to  his  arrival  in  the 
proper  spirit. 

Phaedria.  What 's  the  matter  ? 

Antipho.  Do  you  ask,  you  who  are  my  accomplice 
in  so  bold  a  deed  ?  Oh,  that  it  had  never  come  into 
Phormio's  head  to  advise  me  as  he  did,  and  that  he 
had  not  urged  me  (though  I  did  n't  need  much  urg- 
ing) to  that  act  which  was  the  beginning  of  all  my 
troubles !  Suppose  I  had  not  won  her ;  I  should  have 
suffered  for  the  next  few  days,  but  I  should  n't  have 
been  racked  by  this  daily  anxiety  — 

Phaedria.  Oh,  doubtless ! 

Antipho.  Expecting  my  father  to  come  any  day, 
and  put  an  end  to  my  married  life. 

Phaedria.  Other  people  fret  because  they  see  too 
little  of  those  they  love ;  you  complain  because  you 
see  too  much  of  her.  You  have  a  surfeit  of  love, 
Antipho.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this  life  of  yours 
is  one  to  be  desired  and  longed  for.  So  help  me, 
Heaven,  I  should  be  ready  to  lay  down  my  life,  if  I 
might  enjoy  my  love  as  long  as  you  have  yours.  Just 
think  how  I  am  suffering  from  want,  while  you  are 
revelling  in  plenty ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that 
you  have,  without  any  expense,  won  a  well-born,  well- 
bred  wife ;  that  you  have,  just  as  you  wished,  been 
married  publicly,  and  without  any  scandal.  You  would 
be  a  happy  man  if  there  were  not  one  thing  wanting 
—  the  temperament  to  bear  your  good  fortune  con- 
tentedly. If  you  had  to  deal  with  the  slave-trader 
that  I  have,  you  would  understand.  But  nearly  all 
men's  dispositions  are  the  same ;  we  are  always  dis- 
contented with  our  lot. 


PHORMIO  11 

Antipho.  But,  Phaedria,  to  ine  it  is  you  who  seem 
to  be  the  lucky  man,  for  you  still  have  the  power  of 
doing  what  you  choose :  you  can  keep  your  sweetheart 
or  let  her  go,  whereas  I,  poor  wretch,  have  got  into 
such  a  fix  that  1  can  neither  get  rid  of  my  wife  nor 
keep  her.  But  what  is  this  ?  Is  n't  this  Geta  that  I 
see  running  this  way  ?  So  it  is.  Dear  me  !  I  wonder 
what  news  he  brings. 

SCENE  2. 
Enter  GETA,  running. 

Geta  (to  himself,  not  noticing  ANTIPHO  and  PHAE- 
DRIA). You  're  a  lost  man,  Geta,  unless  you  quickly 
devise  some  plan  of  protection ;  so  many  disasters 
suddenly  threaten,  and  you  are  so  unprepared.  I 
don't  know  how  to  avoid  them,  or  how  to  get  myself 
out  of  this  scrape.  Our  bold  stroke  can't  be  kept 
secret  any  longer. 

Antipho  (aside  to  PHAEDRIA).  What  is  it  that  he  's 
in  such  a  flurry  about  ? 

Geta.  Besides,  I  've  only  a  moment  for  this  busi- 
ness. The  master  is  here. 

Antipho  (aside).    What  disaster  is  this  ? 

Geta.  When  he  hears  of  it,  what  means  shall  I 
find  to  turn  aside  his  anger  ?  Suppose  I  speak  ?  I 
should  enrage  him.  Hold  my  tongue  ?  I  should 
aggravate  him.  Try  to  excuse  myself  ?  I  might  as 
well  wash  a  brick.  Oh,  poor  me !  I  'm  in  for  it.  And 
then,  too,  I  'm  on  tenter-hooks  about  Antipho  ;  I  pity 
him ;  I  fear  him.  It 's  he  who 's  keeping  me  here  now. 
But  for  him  I  should  have  taken  good  care  of  myself, 
and  paid  the  old  gentleman  out  for  his  ill  temper ;  I 
should  have  got  a  few  things  together  and  bolted 
straightway. 


12  TERENCE 

Antipho  (aside).  What  flight  or  theft  is  this  that 
he  's  scheming  ? 

Geta.  But  where  shall  I  find  Antipho  ?  Which 
way  shall  I  start  to  seek  him  ? 

Phaedria  (aside).    He  's  talking  about  you.         . 

Antipho  (aside).  1  expect  to  hear  of  some  great 
disaster  or  other  from  this  messenger. 

Phaedria  (aside).  Oh,  dear  ! 

Geta.   I  '11  go  home  ;  that 's  where  he  generally  is. 

Phaedria  (aside).   Let 's  call  the  fellow  back. 

Antipho.   Stop,  there ! 

Geta  (without  looking  back).  Umph  !  You  speak 
haughtily  enough,  whoever  you  are. 

Antipho.   Geta ! 

Geta  (looking  baclc).  It 's  the  very  man  that  I 
want  to  see. 

Antipho.  Pray,  let  me  have  the  news  that  you 
bring,  and  tell  it  to  me,  if  you  can,  in  a  word. 

Geta.   I  will. 

Antipho.    Out  with  it. 

Geta.   At  the  harbor  just  now  — 

Antipho.   Not  my  —  ? 

Geta.   You  've  guessed  it. 

Antipho.    I  'm  undone. 

Phaedria.   Whew ! 

Antipho.   What  am  I  to  do  ? 

Phaedria.   What  is  it  you  say? 

Geta.   I  've  seen  his  father,  your  uncle. 

Antipho.  Poor  wretch  that  I  am  !  How  shall  I 
ward  off  this  sudden  disaster  ?  If  my  fortunes  have 
fallen  so  low  that  I  must  be  parted  from  you,  Pha- 
nium,  I  don't  care  to  live. 

Geta.  Well,  then,  if  that 's  so,  Antipho,  you  ought 
to  be  all  the  more  on  the  alert ;  Fortune  favors  the 
brave. 


PHORMIO  13 

Antipho.   I  'm  beside  myself. 

Geta.  But,  Antipho,  this  is  just  the  time  when  you 
should  n't  be  beside  yourself,  for  if  your  father  sees 
that  you  're  afraid  he  '11  think  that  you  're  to  blame. 

Phaedria.    That 's  true. 

Antipho.  I  can't  change  my  character. 

Geta.  How  would  you  manage  if  you  had  some- 
thing harder  to  do  ? 

Antipho.  Why,  since  I  can't  do  this,  I  should  be 
'  still  less  able  to  do  that. 

Geta.  There  's  nothing  in  this,  Phaedria ;  let 's  be 
off.  Why  are  we  wasting  time  here  ?  I  'm  going. 

Phaedria.   And  I  too. 

Antipho.  Oh,  pray!  Suppose  I  pretend  to  be  brave  ? 
(feigning  an  expression  of  boldness).  Will  this  do  ? 

Geta  (not  turning  round).  You  're  talking  non- 
sense. 

Antipho.  Look  at  my  face,  both  of  you.  Now,  will 
this  do  ? 

Geta.  No. 

Antipho.    Well,  then,  this? 

Geta.    Almost. 

Antipho.   This,  then. 

Geta.  That  will  do.  Now  stick  to  that,  and  see 
that  you  answer  him  word  for  word,  tit  for  tat,  and 
don't  let  him,  however  angry  he  may  be,  get  the  better 
of  you  by  his  savage  abuse. 

Antipho.    I  understand. 

Geta.  You  were  forced  into  it  against  your  will  by 
the  law,  the  sentence  passed  upon  you,  do  you  under- 
stand? But  who's  the  old  gentleman  I  see  at  the 
end  of  the  street  ? 

Antipho.    'T  is  he  himself.     I  can't  stay. 

Geta.  Oh,  what  are  you  doing,  where  are  you  going, 
Antipho  ?  Stop,  stop  ! 


14  TERENCE 

Antipho.  I  know  myself  and  my  offence ;  I  leave 
Phanium  and  my  life  in  your  hands.  [Exit  hastily. 

Phaedria.    What  will  happen  now,  Geta  ? 

Geta.  You  '11  get  a  lecture ;  and  I,  unless  I'm  very 
much  mistaken,  shall  be  tied  up  and  flogged.  But, 
Phaedria,  we  ourselves  must  now  carry  out  the  advice 
which  we  just  gave  to  Antipho. 

Phaedria.  Away  with  your  "  musts,"  —  give  me 
your  orders. 

Geta.  Do  you  remember  what  you  used  to  say  at 
the  very  beginning  of  this  business,  by  way  of  shield- 
ing us  from  blame,  —  that  the  case  against  us  was  law- 
ful and  clear,  sure  to  win,  as  good  as  it  could  be  ? 

Phaedria.    I  remember. 

Geta.  Well,  there  's  need  of  the  selfsame  defence 
now,  or,  if  possible,  of  one  better  and  more  plausible. 

Phaedria.   I  '11  do  my  best. 

Geta.  Now  do  you  attack  first.  I  '11  be  here  in  re- 
serve, ready  to  relieve  you,  if  you  fail. 

Phaedria.  Agreed.    (They  retire  to  back  of  stage.} 

SCENE  3. 
Enter  DEMIPHO. 

Demipho  (to  himself,  not  seeing  PHAEDRIA  and 
GETA).  To  think  of  it,  to  think  of  it !  Antipho  mar- 
ried without  my  consent !  Had  he  no  regard  for  my 
authority  ?  No,  I  '11  say  nothing  about  my  author- 
ity, but  for  my  displeasure  ?  No  shame  ?  Oh,  what 
an  outrage  !  Oh,  that  Geta,  his  prompter ! 

Geta  (aside).    My  turn  at  last ! 

Demipho.  What  will  they  say  to  me  ?  What  ex- 
cuse will  they  find  ? 


PHORMIO  15 

Phaedria  (aside).  Oh,  I  '11  find  one  ;  don't  let 
that  trouble  you. 

Demipho.  Will  it  be,  "  I  did  it  against  my  will, 
the  law  compelled  me  "  ?  Well,  I  concede  that. 

Geta  (aside).   Good. 

Demipho.  But  wittingly  and  without  a  word,  to  let 
your  opponents  win  —  did  the  law  compel  you  to  do 
that? 

Phaedria  (aside).    That 's  a  hard  one. 

Geta  (aside).   I  '11  fix  it ;  leave  it  to  me. 

Demipho.  I  don't  know  what  I  'in  to  do,  seeing 
that  this  has  happened.  It 's  such  a  surprise  that  I 
can  hardly  believe  it  even  now.  I  'm  so  upset  that  I 
can't  bring  myself  to  think  it  over.  It  shows  that 
every  one,  even  at  the  height  of  prosperity,  should  con- 
sider ways  and  means  of  bearing  adversity  —  danger, 
loss,  exile.  A  man  returning  from  a  journey  should 
always  keep  in  mind  the  possibility  of  his  son  being 
in  a  scrape,  his  wife  being  dead,  or  his  daughter  ill ;  he 
should  remember  that  these  are  the  common  incidents 
of  life,  and  so  prevent  their  surprising  him.  What- 
ever turns  out  well  contrary  to  his  expectation,  should 
be  reckoned  as  so  much  gain. 

Geta  (aside).  Oh,  Phaedria,  it  's  hard  to  believe, 
but  I  'm  away  ahead  of  my  master  in  philosophy,  for 
I  've  considered  all  the  disagreeable  things  which  may 
befall  me  on  his  return  :  to  grind  corn  in  the  mill,  be 
flogged,  wear  chains,  work  as  a  field  hand.  None  of 
these  things  will  surprise  me.  Whatever  turns  out 
well  contrary  to  my  expectation,  I  shall  reckon  as  so 
much  gain.  But  why  don't  you  go  up  to  him  and 
begin  to  coax  him  ? 

Demipho.   Why,  here  's  my  nephew  Phaedria. 

Phaedria  (going  up  to  him).  How  do  you  do, 
uncle  ? 


16  TERENCE 

Demipho.   How  do  you  do  ?  but  where  's  Antipho  ? 

Phaedria.   Your  safe  return  — 

Demipho.  Yes,  I  know  what  you  would  say,  but 
answer  my  question. 

Phaedria.  He  's  well,  he 's  here  ;  have  you  found 
everything  to  your  liking  ? 

Demipho.  I  wish  I  had. 

Phaedria.    What  is  it  that 's  wrong  ? 

Demipho.  Need  you  ask  me,  Phaedria?  A  nice 
marriage  you  've  brought  about  here  in  my  absence ! 

Phaedria.  What,  are  you  angry  with  him  on  that 
account  ? 

Geta    (aside).    What  an  artist  he  is ! 

Demipho.  How  could  I  fail  to  be  angry  with  him  ? 
Just  let  me  set  eyes  on  him.  He  '11  soon  learn  that 
his  once  lenient  father  has  become  harshness  itself. 

Phaedria.  But,  uncle,  he  has  n't  done  anything 
for  you  to  be  angry  at. 

Demipho.  Why,  look  you  now  !  it 's  all  of  a  piece  ! 
they  're  in  it  together !  Know  one  and  you  know  all. 

Phaedria.    It  is  n't  so. 

Demipho.  When  Number  One  has  done  something 
wrong,  Number  Two  stands  forth  as  his  advocate  ; 
when  Number  Two  is  in  trouble,  Number  One  comes 
forward.  It 's  a  mutual  protection  society. 

Geta  (aside*).  He  does  n't  know  it,  but  the  old  man 
has  painted  them  in  their  true  colors. 

Demipho.  If  it  were  n't  so,  you  would  n't  be  siding 
with  him,  Phaedria. 

Phaedria.  If  Antipho's  fault,  uncle,  had  been  one 
that  affected  his  fortune  or  good  name,  I  shouldn't 
have  said  a  word  against  his  suffering  the  punishment 
which  he  deserved  ;  but  when  some  one,  resorting  to 
sharp  practice  and  taking  advantage  of  our  youth, 


PHORMIO  17 

laid  a  trap  for  us,  and  won  the  case,  is  it  our  fault, 
or  the  fault  of  the  jury,  who  often,  as  you  know,  cast 
the  rich  from  envy,  and  find  for  the  poor  from  com- 
passion. 

Geta  (aside).  If  I  didn't  know  the  details  of  the 
trial,  I  should  really  believe  that  he  was  telling  the 
truth. 

Demipho.  Can  any  juryman  get  at  the  right  and 
wrong  of  a  case,  when  the  defendant  acts  as  he  did 
and  says  never  a  word  ? 

Phaedria.  Any  other  well-bred  young  fellow  might 
have  done  the  same :  when  he  appeared  in  court  he 
could  n't  deliver  the  speech  he  had  prepared  ;  his  mod- 
esty was  too  much  for  him. 

Geta  (aside).  Phaedria 's  fine!  But  why  don't 
I  accost  the  old  fellow  ?  (going  up  to  Aim.)  How  do 
you  do,  master  ?  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you  safe  home 
again. 

Demipho.  O  worthy  guardian !  true  prop  of  the 
family !  to  whose  care  I  commended  my  son  when  I 
went  abroad ! 

Geta.  I  've  heard  you  for  some  time  maligning  us, 
and  me  most  unjustly  of  all.  Why,  what  did  you  ex- 
pect me  to  do  in  this  trial  ?  The  law  does  n't  allow  a 
slave  to  plead,  nor  can  he  be  called  as  a  witness. 

Demipho.  I  pass  over  all  that ;  I  admit  the  defence 
that  he  was  young,  unsophisticated,  afraid  to  speak ; 
I  allow  your  plea  of  being  a  slave  ;  but  however 
nearly  related  the  girl  might  be,  he  need  n't  have  mar- 
ried her.  You  should  have  given  her  a  dowry,  as  the 
law  directs,  and  she  should  have  hunted  up  another 
husband.  On  what  reckoning  did  he  choose  to  marry 
a  pauper  ? 

Geta.  It  was  n't  a  reckoning,  but  cash  that  we 
wanted. 


18  TERENCE 

Demipho.    He  could  have  raised  it  somehow. 

Geta.    Where  ?     It 's  easy  to  talk. 

Demipho.  Well,  if  he  could  n't  get  it  in  any  other 
way,  he  might  have  borrowed  it  on  interest. 

Geta.  A  pretty  idea  that !  As  if  any  one  would, 
trust  him  while  you  're  alive  ! 

Demipho.  No,  no,  it  shall  not,  it  cannot  be.  I  '11 
not  let  her  live  with  him  one  single  day  as  his  wife. 
This  is  not  a  case  for  leniency.  I  wish  some  one 
would  point  out  that  fellow  to  me,  or  show  me  the 
place  where  he  lives. 

Geta.   You  mean  Phormio  ? 

Demipho.  The  man  who  took  up  this  woman's 
case. 

Geta.   I  '11  have  him  here  presently. 

Demipho.   Where  's  Antipho  now  ? 

Geta.   Out. 

Demipho.  Go,  find  him,  Phaedria,  and  bring  him 
here. 

Phaedria.    I  '11  go  right  away. 

[Exit  into  Dorio's  house. 

Geta  (aside').   Yes,  to  Pamphila. 

Demipho.  I  '11  go  home,  and  greet  my  household 
gods  ;  thence  to  the  market  place  and  ask  some  of  my 
friends  to  stand  by  me  in  this  matter,  so  that  I  may  be 

ready  for  Phormio  if  he  should  come. 

[Exit  into  his  house. 

ACT   III. 

SCENE  1. 

Enter  PHORMIO  and  GETA. 

Phormio.   You  say  that  he  was  so  frightened  at  his 
father's  return  that  he  ran  away. 
Geta.   Quite  so. 


PHORMIO  19 

Phormio.   And  Phanium  is  left  alone  ? 

Geta.   Yes. 

Phormio.   And  the  old  gentleman  is  angry  ? 

6reta.    Furious. 

Phormio  (to  himself).  Upon  you  alone,  Phormio, 
devolves  the  corfduct  of  this  affair ;  you  're  the  one 
who  has  made  this  dish,  and  you  're  the  one  who  must 
eat  it.  Set  about  it  then ! 

Geta.   Pray,  help  us. 

Phormio    (to  himself}.   Suppose  he  asks  — 

Geta.   We  're  depending  wholly  on  you. 

Phormio  (to  himself).  But  see  !  What  if  he  re- 
plies — 

Geta.    It  was  you  who  drove  him  to  it. 

Phormio    (to  himself).    I  have  it,  I  think. 

Geta.    Do  help  us. 

Phormio.  Bring  the  old  fellow  out.  I  've  all  my 
plans  arranged. 

Geta.    What  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

Phormio.  Just  what  you  want  me  to  do,  —  have 
Phanium  stay  where  she  is,  free  Antipho  from  blame, 
turn  aside  the  current  of  the  old  man's  wrath  upon 
myself. 

Geta.  You  're  a  plucky  fellow,  and  a  friend  in- 
deed. But,  Phormio,  I  'm  often  afraid  that  your 
dare-devil  ways  will  land  you  in  the  stocks  some  day. 

Phormio.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  've  had  experience, 
and  can  see  my  way  clearly  now.  Just  think  of  all 
the  people  I  've  beaten  out  of  their  very  lives  —  for- 
eigners and  citizens ;  the  better  I  know  the  way,  the 
oftener  I  try  it.  Come,  tell  me  now,  have  you  ever 
heard  of  any  action  for  assault  being  brought  against 
me? 

Geta.    How  do  you  account  for  that  ? 


20  TERENCE 

Phormio.  It 's  this  way  :  the  net  is  not  spread  for 
the  hawk  or  the  kite,  that  do  us  harm  ;  it 's  laid  for 
those  that  do  us  none  at  all.  In  the  one  case  there  's 
profit,  in  the  other  mere  labor  lost.  Men  who  have 
something  to  lose  are  exposed  to  divers  perils,  but  I 
have  nothing,  and  everybody  knows  it.  What 's  that 
you  say  ?  Have  me  convicted,  and  take  me  to  jail  ? 
No,  no !  they  don't  care  to  support  a  big  eater,  and 
to  my  mind  they  're  wise  not  to  wish  to  requite  an  in- 
jury by  the  greatest  of  favors. 

Geta.  Antipho  will  never  be  able  to  reward  you  as 
you  deserve. 

Phormio.  That 's  true,  but  then  no  one  is  ever  as 
grateful  to  his  patron  as  he  ought  to  be.  Just  think ! 
You  go  to  his  house  scot-free,  you  've  had  your  bath, 
been  anointed,  there  's  not  a  care  on  your  mind,  while 
he  has  all  the  worry  and  expense.  You  have  a  good 
time,  he  frets  and  fumes.  You  may  laugh,  drink 
first,  take  your  place  first.  Then  a  puzzling  dinner  is 
set  before  you. 

Geta.  What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

Phormio.  One  where  you  are  puzzled  which  dish 
you  had  better  taste  first.  Reckoning  up  how  plea- 
sant, how  delicious  these  things  are,  should  n't  you 
regard  the  man  who  furnishes  them  as  a  god  incar- 
nate? , 

Geta.  Here  's  the  old  man  !  Mind  what  you  're 
doing ;  it 's  the  first  onset  that 's  always  the  fiercest. 
If  you  hold  your  own  in  that,  all  the  rest  will  be  mere 
play.  [They  retire  to  back  of  stage. 


PHORMIO  21 

SCENE  2. 
Enter  DEMIPHO  and  his  three  advisers. 

Demipho.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anybody  being 
wronged  in  a  more  insulting  way  than  I  have  been  in 
this  matter  ?  Stand  by  me,  I  pray  you. 

Geta  (aside).    He 's  furious. 

Phormio  (aside).  Just  keep  your  eye  on  me  ;  I  '11 
stir  him  up  presently.  (Aloud.~)  Good  heavens! 
Phanium  not  related  to  him?  Is  that  what  Demi- 
pho says  ?  Does  Demipho  say  that  she  's  not  related 
to  him  ? 

Geta.   That 's  what  he  says. 

Demipho.  I  believe  that  this  is  the  very  man  I  was 
speaking  of.  Follow  me. 

Phormio.  And  says  he  does  n't  know  who  her  fa- 
ther was? 

Geta.   That 's  what  he  says. 

Phormio.    And  denies  all  knowledge  of  Stilpo  ? 

Geta.   Just  so. 

Phormio.  Because  the  poor  girl  was  left  in  want, 
people  don't  know  her  father,  and  she  herself  is 
neglected.  Just  see  what  avarice  does. 

Geta.  If  you  cast  any  slurs  on  my  master,  you  '11 
hear  from  me  to  your  sorrow. 

Demipho.  The  insolence  of  the  fellow !  He  has 
actually  come  here  to  accuse  me  ! 

Phormio.  As  for  the  young  man,  I  've  no  quarrel 
with  him  for  not  knowing  much  about  my  friend, 
who  was  well  on  in  years,  and  in  poor  circumstances. 
He  earned  his  living  by  the  work  of  his  hands,  and 
so  he  generally  stayed  in  the  country,  where  he  held 
some  land  under  my  father.  I  've  often  heard  him  tell 


22  TERENCE 

how  this  kinsman  of  his  neglected  him.  But  what  a 
man  he  was !  the  best  I  've  ever  known. 

Geta.  Something  of  a  contrast  between  him  and  you ! 

Phormio.  Oh,  go  and  be  hanged !  If  I  had  n't 
thought  so  highly  of  him,  I  never  should  have  got 
into  all  this  trouble  with  your  family  for  the  daugh- 
ter's sake,  whom  your  master  is  now  treating  so  shab- 
bily. 

Geta.  You  scoundrel,  are  you  going  to  continue 
abusing  my  master  behind  his  back  ? 

Phormio.    But  he  deserves  it. 

Geta.  You  say  so,  you  jail-bird  ? 

Demipho.   Geta ! 

Geta.   You  thief !     You  swindler ! 

Demipho.   Geta ! 

Phormio  (aside).    Answer  him. 

Geta.   Who  is  it?     Oh! 

Demipho.   Silence ! 

Geta.  This  fellow  has  never  ceased  to  heap  abuse 
on  you  behind  your  back,  saying  things  which  don't 
apply  to  you  at  all,  but  to  himself. 

Demipho.  Hold  your  tongue.  (7b  PHORMIO.) 
Young  man,  pray  answer  me,  if  you  please.  Just 
explain  to  me  who  that  friend  of  yours  was,  and  how 
he  claimed  kinship  with  me. 

Phormio.  Fishing,  just  as  if  you  did  n't  know 
him ! 

Demipho.    I  know  him  ? 

Phormio.    Yes. 

Demipho.  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  know  him  ;  recall 
him  to  my  memory,  since  you  say  I  do. 

Phormio.    What,  not  know  your  own  cousin  ? 

Demipho.  You  '11  be  the  death  of  me.  Tell  me  his 
name. 


PHORMIO  23 

Phormio.   His  name  ?     Certainly. 

Demipho.   Why  don't  you  tell  it  to  me? 

Phormio  (aside).  By  Heaven,  it 's  all  over  with  me  ! 
I  've  forgotten  his  name. 

Demipho.   Eh !     What 's  that  you  're  saying  ? 

Phormio  (aside).  Geta,  if  you  remember  what  we 
said  just  now,  prompt  me.  (Aloud.}  Well,  I  won't 
tell  you  his  name ;  you  come  to  pump  me,  as  if  you 
did  n't  know. 

Demipho.   I  pump  you  ? 

Geta  (aside  to  PHORMIO).   Stilpo. 

Phormio.  But  after  all,  what  do  I  care  ?  His  name 
was  Stilpo. 

Demipho.    Whom  did  you  say  ? 

Phormio.   Stilpo,  I  say  ;  you  knew  him. 

Demipho.  I  never  knew  him,  and  I  never  had  a 
kinsman  of  that  name. 

Phormio.  So  ?  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  Now  if  he 
had  left  behind  him  a  property  worth  ten  talents  — 

Demipho.   The  gods  confound  you ! 

Phormio.  You  'd  have  been  the  very  first  to  trace 
your  ancestry  from  memory,  going  back  to  grandfather 
and  great-grandfather. 

Demipho.  I  take  you  at  your  word.  In  that  case  I 
should  on  my  return  home  have  told  everybody  how 
she  was  related  to  me.  Now  do  you  do  likewise. 
Pray,  how  is  she  related  to  me  ? 

Geta.  Well  done,  our  side !  (Aside  to  PHORMIO.) 
Look  out,  you  there ! 

Phormio.  I  've  already  explained  the  whole  matter 
clearly  to  those  to  whom  it  was  my  duty  to  explain  it, 
the  gentlemen  of  the  jury.  If  what  I  said  was  untrue, 
why  did  n't  your  son  disprove  it  ? 

Demij)h,o.  My  son,  indeed !  I  can't  speak  of  his 
folly  in  the  terms  it  deserves. 


24  TERENCE 

Phormio.  But  now  do  you,  who  are  so  wise,  go  to 
the  magistrates,  and  ask  them  for  a  new  trial,  since  it 
seems  that  you  are  sole  monarch  here,  and  can  get 
judgment  given  twice  in  the  same  case. 

Demipho.  Though  I  've  been  wronged,  yet  rather 
than  be  involved  in  a  lawsuit,  or  listen  to  your  talk, 
I  '11  give  her  the  dowry  which  the  law  orders,  just  as 
if  she  really  were  related  to  me.  Away  with  her,  and 
take  five  minae. 

Phormio.   Ha,  ha  !  you  're  delightful ! 

Demipho.  What 's  the  matter  ?  Is  n't  my  request 
reasonable  ?  Am  I  to  be  refused  even  this,  the  com- 
mon right  of  citizens  ? 

Phormio.  And  pray  does  the  law  order  you  to  pay 
her  off  and  get  rid  of  her,  after  you  've  done  what 
you  liked  with  her,  just  as  if  she  were  a  courtesan  ? 
Does  it  not,  on  the  contrary,  order  that  she  be  given 
in  marriage  to  her  next  of  kin,  to  live  with  him  all 
her  days,  lest  poverty  should  drive  her  to  evil  courses  ? 
And  this  is  what  you  forbid. 

Demipho.  Yes,  to  her  next  of  kin  ;  but  how  do  we 
come  in  ?  or  why  ? 

Phormio.  Oh,  my  good  sir,  "  don't  plead  a  lost 
cause,"  as  the  saying  is. 

Demipho.  What !  not  plead  my  cause  ?  I  '11  not 
stop  till  I  've  gained  my  point. 

Phormio.   Nonsense ! 

Demipho.   You  '11  see. 

Phormio.  Besides,  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  you, 
Demipho ;  judgment  has  been  given  against  your  son, 
not  against  you  ;  your  time  for  marrying  has  passed. 

Demipho.  You  're  to  think  that  he  says  everything 
that  I  say  ;  or  I  '11  turn  him  out  of  doors,  wife  and  all. 

Geta  (aside).   He  's  furious. 


PHORMIO  25 

Phormio.    Better  turn  yourself  out. 

Demipho.  You  scoundrel !  Do  you  mean  to  thwart 
me  in  everything  ? 

Phormio  (aside).  He's  trying  to  hide  it,  but  he's 
afraid  of  us  all  the  same. 

Geta  (aside).  You've  made  a  good  beginning. 

Phormio  (aloud).  Now,  why  not  bear  what  must 
be  borne  ?  Behave  as  you  should,  and  let 's  be 
friends. 

Demipho.  I  want  your  friendship,  or  wish  to  see  or 
hear  you ! 

Phormio.  If  you  're  on  good  terms  with  her,  you  '11 
have  some  one  to  comfort  you  in  your  old  age;  re- 
member that  you  're  getting  on  in  years. 

Demipho.  Let  her  comfort  you ;  take  her  for  your- 
self. 

Phormio.  Don't  let  your  anger  run  away  with  you. 

Demipho.  Now  look  here !  Unless  you  're  quick 
about  taking  that  woman  away,  I  '11  throw  her  out  of 
the  house  ;  that 's  all  I  have  to  say,  Phormio. 

Phormio.  If  you  treat  her  in  any  way  unbecoming 
a  lady  I  '11  bring  a  heavy  action  against  you ;  that 's 
all  I  have  to  say,  Demipho.  (Aside.*)  If  I  'm  wanted, 
send  to  my  house  for  me. 

Geta   (aside).     I  understand.        [Exit  PHORMIO. 

SCENE  3. 

Demipho.  What  trouble  and  anxiety  my  son  has 
caused  me  by  entangling  us  in  this  marriage !  And 
he  won't  let  me  see  him,  so  that  I  might  at  least  know 
what  he  has  to  say  about  the  matter,  or  what  his 
opinion  is.  ( To  GETA.)  Go,  find  out  whether  he  has 
come  home  yet. 


26  TERENCE 

Geta.   Yes.  [Exit  into  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

Demipho.  You  see  how  the  matter  stands.  What 
am  I  to  do  ?  Speak,  Hegio. 

Hegio.  What,  I  ?  With  your  permission,  I  think 
that  Cratinus  had  better  speak. 

Demipho.    Speak,  Cratinus. 

Cratinus.    What,  do  you  want  me  to  speak  ? 

Demipho.   Yes,  you. 

Cratinus.  I  should  like  to  see  you  do  what  is  to 
your  advantage.  This  is  how  I  look  at  it:  it's  right 
and  just  that  what  your  son  has  done  in  your  absence 
should  be  undone ;  and  you  '11  be  able  to  manage  it. 
That 's  what  I  say. 

Demipho.   Now  do  you  speak,  Hegio. 

Hegio.  I  think  that  Cratinus  has  spoken  to  the 
best  of  his  ability  ;  but  the  fact  is,  "  Many  men,  many 
minds  !  "  Every  one  has  his  own  way.  It  seems  to 
me  that  what  has  been  done  by  the  law  can't  be  un- 
done, and  that  it 's  wrong  to  try. 

Demipho.   Now,  Crito. 

Crito.  I  reserve  my  decision  ;  the  matter  is  an 
important  one. 

Hegio.    Can  we  be  of  any  further  service  ? 

Demipho.  You  have  done  well.  (Exeunt  advisers.) 
I'm  much  more  uncertain  now  than  I  was  before. 

Geta  (entering from  DEMIPHO'S  house).  They  say 
that  he  has  n't  come  back. 

Demipho.  I  must  wait  till  my  brother  comes  ;  I  '11 
do  whatever  he  advises  me.  I  '11  go  down  to  the  har- 
bor and  inquire  when  he  is  to  return.  [ Exit. 

Geta.  But  I  '11  look  for  Antipho,  and  let  him  know 
what 's  been  done  here.  Ah,  there  I  see  him  coming 
back  in  the  very  nick  of  time ! 


PHORMIO  27 

SCENE  4. 
Enter  ANTIPHO. 

Antipho.  There 's  no  doubt  about  it,  Antipho, 
you  're  a  great  deal  to  blame  for  your  cowardice. 
Just  think  of  going  off  as  you  did  and  leaving  your 
very  life  to  be  protected  by  others !  Did  you  think 
that  others  would  look  after  your  interests  better  than 
yourself  ?  However  other  matters  stood,  you  certainly 
ought  to  have  done  your  best  for  her  whom  you  now 
have  at  home,  and  seen  to  it  that  she  should  not  be 
deceived  and  harmed  through  you.  All  her  hopes  and 
resources,  poor  thing,  rest  in  you  alone. 

Geta  (coming  forward}.  Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
master,  we  've  been  blaming  you  this  long  time  for 
going  away. 

Antipho.   You  're  the  very  man  I  was  looking  for. 

Geta.  But  we  have  n't  on  that  account  been  any 
the  less  zealous  in  your  cause. 

Antipho.  Tell  me,  pray,  how  stand  my  affairs  and 
my  fortune  ?  Does  my  father  suspect  anything  ? 

Geta.   Nothing  as  yet. 

Antipho.   Is  there  any  hope  for  the  future  ? 

Geta.   I  don't  know. 

Antipho.    Oh,  dear ! 

Geta.  Except  that  Phaedria  has  never  ceased  to 
fight  for  you. 

Antipho.   Nothing  new  in  him. 

Geta.  And  Phormio  has  shown  himself  as  strenu- 
ous in  this  as  in  other  matters. 

Antipho.   What  has  he  done ? 

Geta.  He  silenced  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  in 
a  great  rage. 


28  TERENCE 

Antipho.    Well  done,  Phormio ! 

Geta.    And  I,  too,  did  what  I  could. 

Antipho.   My  Geta,  I  love  you  all. 

Geta.  The  affair  has  begun  as  I  've  told  you.  So 
far  everything 's  quiet,  and  your  father  's  going  to  wait 
for  your  uncle's  arrival. 

Antipho.    Why  is  he  waiting  for  him  ? 

Geta.  He  said  that  he  wished  to  follow  his  advice 
in  the  matter. 

Antipho.  O  Geta,  how  greatly  I  fear  my  uncle's 
return,  for  he,  as  it  seems,  is  to  decide  whether  I  am 
to  live  or  die. 

Geta.    Here  's  Phaedria. 

Antipho.    Where  ? 

Geta.    There,  coming  out  of  his  training-school.1 

SCENE  5. 
Enter  DORIO  and  PHAEDRIA  from  DORIO'S  house. 

Phaedria.    Dorio,  listen  to  me,  I  beseech  you. 

Dorio.   No,  I  won't. 

Phaedria.   Just  a  moment. 

Dorio.   Let  me  alone. 

Phaedria.   Do  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say. 

Dorio.  But  I  'm  tired  of  listening  to  the  same  thing 
a  thousand  times  over. 

Phaedria.  But  this  time  I  '11  tell  you  something 
that  you  '11  be  pleased  to  listen  to. 

Dorio.    Go  on,  I  'm  listening. 

Phaedria.  Can't  I  prevail  on  you  to  wait  for  the 
next  three  days  ?  Where  are  you  going  now  ? 

Dorio.  I  was  wondering  whether  you'd  tell  me 
anything  new. 

1  Humorously  applied  to  Doric's  house. 


PHORMIO  29 

Antipho  (aside).  Ah  !  I  'm  afraid  the  slave-trader 
may  — 

Geta  (aside).  Get  his  head  broken.  I  'm  afraid  of 
that  too. 

Phaedria.   Won't  you  trust  me? 

Dorio.   Nonsense ! 

Phaedria.   If  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  ? 

Dorio.   Stuff! 

Phaedria.  You  '11  say  that  you  were  well  repaid 
for  your  kindness. 

Dorio.   Words ! 

Phaedria.  Believe  me,  you  '11  be  glad  that  you  did 
it ;  indeed  that 's  true. 

Dorio.   Dreams ! 

Phaedria.   Try  me  ;  it  's  not  for  long. 

Dorio.   The  same  old  song ! 

Phaedria.  I  '11  regard  you  as  my  kinsman,  my  pa- 
rent, my  friend,  my  — 

Dorio.   Chatter  away. 

Phaedria.  To  think  of  your  being  so  hard  and 
inexorable  that  neither  pity  nor  entreaties  have  any 
effect  on  you ! 

Dorio.  To  think,  Phaedria,  of  your  being  so  thought- 
less and  shameless  as  to  expect  to  bamboozle  me  with 
fine  words,  and  get  my  girl  for  nothing  ! 

Antipho  (aside').   I  'm  so  sorry  for  him  ! 

Phaedria.   Alas !    What  he  says  is  too  true. 

Geta  (aside).   How  like  himself  each  is  ! 

Phaedria.  I  wish  that  this  piece  of  bad  luck  had 
not  happened  to  me  at  a  time  when  Antipho  has 
troubles  of  his  own  ! 

Antipho.  Eh?  What 's  that  you  're  saying,  Phae- 
dria? 

Phaedria.   Oh,  you  lucky  fellow  ! 


SO  TERENCE 

Antipho.    I  lucky  ? 

Phaedria.  You  've  got  your  sweetheart,  and  you  Ve 
never  had  to  face  a  trouble  like  this. 

Antipho.  Got  her !  no,  I  'm  like  the  man  in  the 
proverb,  I  "  hold  a  wolf  by  the  ears."  l 

Dorio.   That 's  just  my  difficulty  with  this  fellow. 

Antipho.  Oh,  don't  be  a  slave-trader  by  halves! 
(To  PHAEDRIA.)  Has  he  done  anything  final  ? 

Phaedria.  He  ?  Yes,  acted  like  a  perfect  brute, 
sold  my  Pamphila. 

Geta.    What!    Sold  her? 

Antipho.    What 's  that  you  say?     Sold  her? 

Phaedria.   That 's  what  he 's  done. 

Dorio.  What  a  crime,  for  a  man  to  sell  a  girl  that 
he  bought  with  his  own  money  I 

Phaedria.  I  can't  get  him  to  wait  for  me  and  put 
off  his  other  purchaser  for  just  the  next  three  days, 
while  I  get  together  the  money  that  I  've  been  pro- 
mised by  my  friends.  If  I  don't  give  it  you  then, 
don't  wait  an  hour  longer. 

Dorio.    Still  dinning  that  into  my  ears  ! 

Antipho.  It 's  not  a  long  time  that  he  asks  for. 
Agree  to  his  proposition.  He  '11  repay  twice  over  the 
benefit  you  confer. 

Dorio.   That 's  all  talk. 

Antipho.  Will  you  let  Pamphila  be  banished  from 
the  city  ?  Have  you  the  heart  to  sunder  their  love  ? 

Dorio.   Neither  you  nor  I  need  trouble  about  that. 

Geta.  May  all  the  gods  give  you  what  you  deserve ! 

Dorio.  I  've  borne  with  you  against  my  will  for 
several  months  ;  you  've  been  all  promises  and  tears, 
but  no  cash ;  now,  instead,  I  've  found  a  man  with 
cash  and  no  tears.  Make  way  for  your  betters. 

1  Difficult  to  hold,  dangerous  to  let  go. 


PHORMIO  31 

Antipho.  But,  if  I  remember  rightly,  a  day  was 
fixed  long  ago,  by  which  you  were  to  pay  him. 

Phaedria.   So  it  was. 

Dorio.   Do  I  deny  it  ? 

Antipho.   Has  that  day  passed  ? 

Dorio.   No,  but  this  one  has  come  before  it. 

Antipho.  Are  n't  you  ashamed  of  your  treach- 
ery ? 

Dorio.   Not  a  bit,  if  I  make  anything  out  of  it. 

Geta.   Dirt! 

Phaedria.    Dorio,  is  this  the  way  to  act  ? 

Dorio.   It 's  my  way  ;  take  it  or  leave  it. 

Antipho.    And  you  deceive  him  like  this  ? 

Dorio.  But,  Antipho,  it 's  he  who  's  deceiving  me. 
He  knew  what  I  was ;  I  thought  he  was  something 
different.  He  's  taken  me  in  ;  I  've  been  to  him  just 
what  I  always  was.  But  however  that  may  be,  I  '11 
do  this  much  for  you.  The  soldier  said  that  he  'd 
give  me  the  money  early  to-morrow  morning.  If  you 
bring  it  to  me  before  he  does,  Phaedria,  I  '11  act  on 
my  old  rule,  "  First  come,  first  served."  That 's  all. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  6. 

Phaedria.  What  am  I  to  do?  Miserable  man 
that  I  am,  how  can  I  find  the  money  for  him  on  such 
short  notice,  I  who  have  less  than  nothing  ?  If  we 
could  have  got  him  to  wait,  it  was  promised  me  in 
three  days. 

Antipho.  Geta,  can  we  let  him  be  so  unhappy,  him 
who  helped  me  so  kindly  a  little  while  ago,  as  you 
told  me  ?  Now  that  he  needs  it,  let 's  try  to  repay  our 
debt  of  gratitude  to  him. 

Geta.   That 's  what  we  ought  to  do,  I  know. 


32  TERENCE 

Antipho.  Then  be  up  and  doing;  you  alone  can 
save  him. 

Geta.    What  am  I  to  do  ? 

Antipho.   Find  the  money. 

Geta.  I  wish  I  could  ;  but  tell  me  where  I  'm  to 
get  it. 

Antipho.   My  father 's  here. 

Geta.    I  know  he  is  ;  but  what  of  that  ? 

Antipho.   A  word  to  the  wise ! 

Geta.   Oh,  that 's  what  you  mean  ? 

Antipho.   Yes. 

Geta.  A  fine  plan  indeed  !  Not  much !  Have  n't 
I  every  reason  to  congratulate  myself,  if  I  don't  get 
into  trouble  on  account  of  your  marriage,  without 
your  bidding  me  for  Phaedria's  sake  to  run  the  risk 
of  utter  destruction  by  further  mischief  ? 

Antipho.   He  's  right. 

Phaedria.   Oh,  Geta,  am  I  a  stranger  to  you  ? 

Geta.  No ;  but  is  n't  it  enough  that  the  old  gentle- 
man should  be  angry  with  us,  without  our  goading 
him  into  such  fury  that  there  won't  be  any  place  left 
for  entreaty  ? 

Phaedria.  What!  Let  another  take  her  out  of 
my  sight  to  foreign  parts  ?  Never !  So,  while  you 
can  and  while  I  remain  here,  speak  to  me,  Antipho, 
look  upon  me. 

Antipho.  Why?     Pray,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

Phaedria.  I  've  made  up  my  mind  to  follow  her 
wherever  she  's  taken,  or  to  die. 

Geta.   The  gods  help  you,  but  go  slow. 

Antipho.  See  whether  you  can  give  him  any  assist- 
ance. 

Geta.    How  can  I  ? 

Antipho.   Oh,  find  some  plan  for  him,  I  implore 


PHORMIO  33 

you,  Geta,  or  he  '11  do  something  rash  that  we  '11  be 
sorry  for  afterwards. 

Geta.   I  'm  trying  to  find  one. 

Antipho  (aside).    I  believe  Phaedria's  saved. 

Geta.    But  I  'm  afraid  of  getting  into  trouble. 

Antipho.  Don't  be  afraid ;  we  '11  share  both  good 
and  bad  fortune  with  you. 

Geta.    How  much  money  do  you  want?     Tell  me. 

Phaedria.    Only  thirty  mimic. 

Geta.   Thirty  ?     Why,  she  's  very  dear,  Phaedria. 

Phaedria.  No,  a  girl  like  that  is  cheap  at  the 
price. 

Geta.  Well,  well,  I  '11  find  the  money  and  hand  it 
over  to  you. 

Phaedria.   Oh,  you  dear  old  fellow  ! 

Geta.    Be  off  with  you. 

Phaedria.    I  want  it  without  delay. 

Geta.  You  shall  have  it  without  delay.  But  I 
must  have  Phormio  to  help  me  in  this  business. 

Antipho.  He's  ready;  lay  any  burden  you  please 
on  his  shoulders,  he  '11  bear  it ;  there  never  was  such 
a  friend  as  he. 

Geta.   Then  let 's  go  to  him  straightway. 

Antipho.   Can  I  be  of  any  use  to  you  ? 

Geta.  No.  Go  home  and  cheer  up  that  poor  girl, 
who,  I'm  sure,  is  sitting  in  there  half  dead  with  fear. 
Why  don't  you  go  ? 

Antipho.  There  's  nothing  I  should  like  to  do  so 
much.  \_Exit  into  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

Phaedria  (to  GETA).    How  will  you  manage  it  ? 

Geta.  I  '11  tell  you  as  we  go,  only  come  away  from 
here.  [Exeunt  PHAEDRIA  and  GETA. 


34  TERENCE 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  1. 
Enter  DEMIPHO  and  CHREMES. 

Demipho. .  Well,  have  you  brought  back  your 
daughter  with  you,  on  whose  account  you  went  to 
Lemnos  ? 

Chremes.    No. 

Demipho.    And  why  not  ? 

Chremes.  When  her  mother  saw  that  I  was  stay- 
ing here  rather  a  long  time,  and  the  girl's  age  did  n't 
admit  of  neglect  on  my  part,  she  set  out,  so  they  said, 
with  all  her  household,  to  come  to  me. 

Demipho.  Pray,  then,  why  did  you  stay  there  so 
long  after  you  had  heard  this  ? 

Chremes.   Hang  it  I1     I  was  ill ;  that  delayed  me. 

Demipho.  What  caused  your  illness?  The  cir- 
cumstances ? 

Chremes.  Do  you  ask  me  ?  Why,  old  age  itself  is 
an  illness.  However,  I  've  heard,  from  the  sailor  who 
brought  them  over,  that  they  got  here  safely. 

Demipho.  Have  you  heard,  Chremes,  what  has 
happened  to  my  son  while  I  was  away  ? 

Chremes.  Yes ;  and  his  action  makes  me  uncer- 
tain what  to  do  ;  for  if  I  offer  my  daughter  in  mar- 
riage to  an  outsider,  I  '11  have  to  explain  in  detail 
bow  and  by  whom  she  is  mine.  Now  I  know  that  I 
can  trust  you  as  myself ;  whereas,  if  an  outsider 
wishes  to  form  a  connection  with  me,  he'll  say  no- 
thing so  long  as  we  're  on  good  terms,  but  if  we  fall 
out,  he  '11  know  more  than  there 's  any  need  of  his 

1  Chremes  is  restive   under  his  brother's  cross-questioning,   and 
makes  somewhat  evasive  answers. 


PHORMIO  35 

knowing.  Moreover,  I  'ra  afraid  of  this  coming  some- 
how to  my  wife's  ears,  and  if  that  happens  there  's 
nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  to  clear  out  and  run 
away  from  home.  I  've  only  myself,  of  all  my  be- 
longings, that  I  can  call  my  own. 

Demipho.  I  know,  and  it  makes  me  anxious.  But 
I  '11  never  tire  of  trying  to  accomplish  what  I  promised. 

SCENE  2. 
Enter  GETA. 

Geta.  Phormio  is  the  cleverest  man  I  've  ever  known. 
I  went  to  him  to  tell  him  that  money  was  wanted,  and 
how  it  was  to  be  got.  Before  I  was  half  through,  he 
understood.  He  was  delighted,  praised  me,  inquired 
where  the  old  gentleman  was,  and  thanked  Heaven 
that  he  had  been  given  an  opportunity  of  proving 
himself  no  less  a  friend  to  Phaedria  than  he  had  been 
to  Antipho.  I  told  him  to  wait  for  me  at  the  market- 
place, and  I  would  bring  Demipho  there.  But  there  's 
the  old  gentleman  himself  now !  And  who  is  that 
behind  him  ?  Whew !  it 's  Phaedria's  father  come 
home !  But  why  should  I  be  afraid,  simpleton  that  I 
am  ?  Because  I  've  got  two  men  to  cheat  instead  of 
one  ?  It 's  better,  I  take  it,  to  have  two  strings  to 
one's  bow.  I'll  ask  Demipho  for  the  money,  as  I 
intended  to  do  ;  if  he  gives  it  to  me,  all  right.  If  I 
can  get  nothing  out  of  him,  then  I  '11  tackle  the  new- 
comer. 

SCENE  3. 

Enter  ANTIPHO,  unobserved,  from  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

Antipho.  I  wonder  how  soon  Geta  will  be  back. 
But  I  see  my  uncle  standing  with  my  father !  Heav- 
ens !  how  I  fear  what  his  return  may  mean  for  me  ! 


38  TERENCE 

Geta  (aside).  I  '11  approach  them.  (Aloud.) 
Our  own  Chremes  !  How  do  you  do  ?  * 

Chremes.     How  do  you  do,  Geta  ? 

Geta.  It 's  a  great  pleasure  to  see  you  safe  home 
again. 

Chremes.   Yes,  yes. 

Geta.   How  goes  it  ? 

Chremes.  I  've  found  a  good  many  changes  here  — 
the  usual  experience  of  one  coming  home. 

Geta.  True,  indeed.  Have  you  heard  what  Anti- 
pho  has  done  ? 

Chremes.   Yes,  the  whole  story. 

Geta  (to  DEMIPHO).  Did  you  tell  him  ?  What  a 
shame  it  was,  Chremes,  that  he  should  be  overreached 
in  that  way ! 

Demipho.    That 's  what  I  was  just  telling  Chremes. 

Geta.  Well,  I  've  turned  the  matter  over  carefully 
in  my  mind,  and  I  think  I  've  found  a  remedy. 

Chremes.    What  is  it,  Geta  ? 

Demipho.    What 's  your  remedy  ? 

Geta.  After  leaving  you,  I  happened  to  meet 
Phormio. 

Chremes.   Who's  Phormio? 

Geta.   The  man  by  whom  that  girl  — 

Chremes.   I  understand. 

Geta.  I  thought  I  might  as  well  sound  him,  so  I 
took  him  aside.  "  Come,  Phormio,"  I  said,  "  why 
should  n't  we  settle  this  business  in  a  friendly  way, 
instead  of  quarrelling  over  it  ?  My  master 's  a  gentle- 
man, and  does  n't  care  to  go  to  law,  though,  by  Hea- 
ven, all  his  friends  just  now  agreed  in  advising  him 
to  turn  her  out  of  doors." 

Antipho  (aside).  What 's  he  up  to  ?  Where  will 
all  this  end  ? 


PHORMIO  37 

Geta.  I  went  on,  "  Do  you  say  that  he  would  have 
to  pay  the  legal  penalty,  if  he  cast  her  forth  ?  That 
matter  has  been  looked  into  already.  Oh,  but  you  '11 
sweat  if  you  go  to  law  with  that  man.  Such  a  speaker 
as  he  is !  And  even  suppose  you  win,  after  all,  it 's 
only  his  money,  not  his  life  that 's  at  stake."  When 
I  saw  that  I  had  made  some  impression  on  him  by 
this  sort  of  talk,  I  added,  "  We  're  all  by  ourselves 
here  now ;  tell  me  what  you  '11  take,  cash  down,  the 
understanding  being  that  my  master  desists  from  the 
lawsuit,  the  girl  takes  herself  off,  and  you  trouble  us 
no  more." 

Antipho  (aside).  Has  Heaven  deprived  him  of  his 
wits? 

Geta.  "  For  I  'm  quite  sure  that  if  you  say  any- 
thing like  what 's  fair  and  right,  he  's  such  a  good 
fellow  that  you  '11  not  have  to  exchange  three  words 
this  day." 

DemipJio.   Who  ordered  you  to  say  this  ? 

Chremes.  But,  Demipho,  we  can't  get  what  we  want 
on  better  terms. 

Antipho  (aside).    It 's  all  over  with  me ! 

DemipJio.    Go  on  with  your  story. 

Geta.   At  first  he  talked  like  a  madman. 

Chremes.   Pray  what  did  he  ask  ? 

Geta.   Far  too  much. 

Chremes.   But  how  much  ?  tell  me. 

Geta.   If  we  would  give  him  a  great  talent  * — 

Demipho.  A  great  drubbing,  he  means  !  The  im- 
pudence of  him ! 

Geta.  Just  what  I  said  to  him.  "  Pray  what  more 
could  my  master  do,  even  if  he  were  arranging  the 
marriage  of  an  only  daughter  ?  He 's  not  gained  much 
1  About  $1180. 


38  TERENCE 

by  not  having  had  one,  seeing  that  a  girl 's  been  found 
for  him  to  provide  with  a  dowry."  His  last  words 
were,  "  From  the  very  beginning  I  've  been  willing,  as 
in  duty  bound,  to  marry  my  friend's  daughter,  for  I 
thought  how  much  she  would  suffer  if,  poor  as  she  was, 
she  were  handed  over  to  some  rich  man  as  his  slave. 
But  to  speak  plainly  with  you,  I  wanted  some  one  who 
would  bring  me  a  trifle  of  money  to  pay  my  debts. 
Even  now,  if  Demipho  is  willing  to  pay  me  as  much 
as  I  shall  get  with  the  girl  I  'm  engaged  to,  there 's 
no  one  I  should  sooner  have  for  my  wife  than  Pha- 
nium." 

Antipho  (aside").  Is  this  stupidity  or  malice  ?  Has 
he  something  in  view,  or  does  n't  he  know  what  he  's 
doing  ?  It 's  more  than  I  can  tell. 

Demipho.  But  suppose  he's  head  over  heels  in 
debt? 

Geta.  "  My  land,"  he  said,  "  is  mortgaged  for  ten 
minae."  * 

Demipho.  All  right,  he  shall  marry  her.  I  '11  give 
the  money. 

Geta.   "  And  my  house  for  ten  more." 

Demipho.    Oh,  no  !    that 's  too  much. 

Chr ernes  (to  Demipho).  Be  quiet.  (To  Geta.} 
Draw  on  me  for  those  ten. 

Geta.  "  I  must  buy  a  maid  for  my  wife ;  I  need  a 
little  more  furniture ;  then  there  are  the  expenses  of 
the  wedding.  Call  that  another  ten." 

Demipho.  Let  him  straightway  bring  a  thousand  ac- 
tions against  me  !  I  won't  give  him  anything !  Shall 
this  infamous  scoundrel  insult  as  well  as  cheat  me  ? 

Chremes.  Do  be  quiet.  I  '11  pay  it ;  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  see  that  your  son  marries  the  girl  we  want 
him  to  marry. 

1  About  $197. 


PHORMIO  39 

Antipho  (aside).  Woe's  me!  Geta,  you 've  un- 
done me  with  your  tricks. 

Chremes.  It 's  for  my  sake  that  she 's  being  turned 
out ;  it 's  only  right  that  I  should  lose  the  money. 

Geta.  "  Let  me  know  as  soon  as  possible,"  he  said, 
"  whether  they  will  give  her  to  me,  so  that  I  may 
break  off  my  engagement,  and  not  be  left  in  suspense. 
The  other  parties,  you  understand,  have  promised  me 
a  dowry." 

Chremes.  Let  him  have  the  money  directly ;  he 
shall  break  off  his  engagement,  and  marry  Phanium. 

Demipho.   And  much  good  may  it  do  him  ! 

Chremes.  By  good  luck  I  have  some  money  with 
me  now,  the  rent  of  my  wife's  estate  in  Lemnos ;  I  '11 
take  it,  and  tell  my  wife  that  you  wanted  it. 

[Exeunt  CHREMES  and  DEMiPHbmto  the  former's  house. 

SCENE  4. 

Antipho    (coming forward).    Geta! 

Geta.    Well! 

Antipho.    What  have  you  done  ? 

Geta.  Cleaned  the  old  gentlemen  out  of  their 
money. 

Antipho.   And  is  that  enough  ? 

Geta.   I  don't  know.     'T  was  all  I  was  told  to  do. 

Antipho.  What,  you  scoundrel,  won't  you  answer 
my  question  ? 

Geta.   Why,  what  are  you  talking  about  ? 

Antipho.  Talking  about  ?  Thanks  to  you,  I  may 
as  well  go  and  hang  myself.  May  all  the  gods  and 
goddesses  in  heaven  above  and  hell  beneath  make  an 
example  of  you!  Look  you,  if  you  want  anything 
done,  put  it  in  this  man's  hands,  and  he  '11  bring  you 


40  TERENCE 

out  of  smooth  water  unto  a  rock.  What  worse  policy 
could  there  have  been  than  to  touch  this  sore,  and 
mention  my  wife?  You  've  given  my  father  hopes  of 
being  able  to  turn  her  out.  Come  now,  if  Phormio 
gets  this  dowry,  he  '11  have  to  marry  her.  What 's  to 
be  done  then  ? 

Geta.   But  he  won't  marry  her. 

Antipho.  Oh,  no !  of  course  not !  And  when  they 
demand  their  money  back,  on  my  account,  forsooth, 
he  '11  prefer  the  stocks  ! 

Geta.  There's  no  story,  Antipho,  that  can't  be 
spoiled  in  the  telling.  You  leave  out  all  the  strong 
points,  and  put  in  all  the  weak  ones.  Now  hear 
the  other  side.  If  he  receives  the  money,  he  '11  have 
to  marry  her,  as  you  say,  and  I  agree  with  you  so 
far.  But  at  least  some  little  time  will  be  given  for 
getting  ready  the  nuptials,  for  invitations,  for  sacrific- 
ing. Meanwhile,  Phaedria's  friends  will  give  him  the 
money  that  they  have  promised,  and  then  Phormio 
will  pay  it  back  again. 

Antipho.  On  what  ground  ?  What  excuse  will  he 
make? 

Geta.  Do  you  ask  ?  Why,  he  '11  say,  "  So  many 
evil  omens  have  befallen  me  since  this  business  was 
begun :  a  strange  black  dog  came  into  my  house ;  a 
snake  fell  from  the  tiles  through  the  skylight ;  a  hen 
crowed ;  the  soothsayer  has  forbidden  it ;  the  diviner 
has  put  a  stop  to  it ;  to  begin  any  new  business  before 
winter  "  —  an  excellent  reason.  That 's  how  things 
will  go. 

Antipho.   I  sincerely  hope  so. 

Geta.  They  will ;  trust  me.  Here  's  your  father 
coming  out  of  the  house.  Be  off,  and  tell  Phaedria 
that  we  've  got  the  money.  [Exit  ANTIPHO. 


PHORMIO  41 

SCENE  5. 
Enter  DEMIPHO  and  CHREMES /rom  the  latter'*  house. 

Demipho.  Never  you  mind,  I  say ;  I  '11  take  care 
that  he  does  n't  cheat  us.  I  '11  never  be  fool  enough 
to  let  this  money  out  of  my  hands  without  having 
witnesses  present ;  I  '11  tell  them  to  whom  I  give  it, 
and  for  what. 

Geta  (aside).  How  careful  he  is  when  care  is  n't 
needed ! 

Chrerncs.  That 's  how  you  ought  to  do  it ;  and 
make  haste,  while  he 's  of  the  same  mind,  for  if  that 
other  girl  becomes  more  urgent,  he  may  throw  us 
over. 

Geta.   You  've  hit  it  exactly. 

Demipho  (to  GETA).    Then  take  me  to  him. 

Geta.   I  'm  all  ready. 

Chremes.  When  you  've  done  this,  come  over  and 
see  my  wife,  and  she  '11  call  on  the  girl  before  she 
goes  away.  She  '11  tell  her,  by  way  of  preventing  her 
being  angry,  that  we  're  going  to  marry  her  to 
Phormio ;  that  he  's  much  better  suited  to  her,  inso- 
much as  he  's  more  closely  connected  with  her ;  that 
we  've  not  failed  in  our  duty,  and  have  given  him  as 
much  dowry  as  he  wanted. 

Demipho.  What  the  deuce  have  you  to  do  with 
that? 

Chremes.  A  great  deal,  Demipho.  It 's  not  suffi- 
cient to  do  your  duty ;  you  must  win  the  world's  ap- 
proval as  well.  I  want  her  to  act  of  her  own  free 
will,  so  that  she  won't  say  that  she  was  turned  out. 

Demipho.    I  can  do  all  this  myself. 

Chremes.  Yes,  but  it  takes  a  woman  to  manage  a 
woman. 


42  TERENCE 

jtfemipho.    Well,  I  '11  ask  your  wife  to  do  it. 

[Exeunt  DEMIPHO  and  GETA,  R. 

Ohremes.  Now  I  wonder  where  I  'm  to  find  those 
women. 

SCENE  6. 

Enter  SOPHRONA  from  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

Sophrona.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  Wretched  woman 
that  I  am,  whom  can  I  find  to  befriend  me  ?  Whom 
can  I  ask  for  advice  ?  Where  turn  for  help  ?  I  'm 
afraid  that,  as  a  result  of  my  counsel,  my  mistress 
may  be  shamefully  treated,  for  I  hear  that  the  young 
man's  father  is  furious  at  what  he  's  done. 

Chremes  (aside).  Now,  who  in  the  world  is  this 
old  woman  coming  out  of  my  brother's  house  in  such 
a  fluster  ? 

Sophrona.  It  was  want  that  drove  me  to  it.  I  knew 
that  this  marriage  was  invalid,  but  I  wanted  her  to 
be  safe  in  the  meantime. 

Chremes  (aside).  By  Heaven,  unless  my  mind  de- 
ceives me  or  my  eyesight 's  failing,  this  is  my  daugh- 
ter's nurse. 

Sophrona.    And  the  man  who  is  her  father  — 

Chremes  (aside').   What  am  I  to  do  ? 

Sophrona.   Can't  as  yet  be  discovered. 

Chremes  (aside).  Shall  I  go  up  to  her,  or  wait  till 
I  understand  better  what  she  's  saying  ? 

Sophrona.  But  if  I  could  find  him  now  I  should 
have  nothing  to  fear. 

Chremes  (aside).  It 's  she  herself ;  I  '11  speak  to 
her. 

Sophrona.    Who  's  talking  here  ? 

Chremes.    Sophrona ! 

Sophrona.    And  mentioning  my  name  ? 


PHORMIO  43 

Chremes.  Look  at  me. 

Sophrona.   For  Heaven's  sake,  is  it  Stilpo? 

Chremes.   No. 

Sophrona,   You  deny  it  ? 

Chremes.  Pray,  Sophrona,  come  a  little  away  from 
the  door  of  that  house,  and  don't  ever  call  me  by  that 
name  again. 

Sophrona.  What?  Aren't  you  the  man  you  al- 
ways said  you  were  ? 

Chremes.    Hush ! 

Sophrona.    Why  do  you  fear  that  door  ? 

Chremes.  I  've  a  savage  wife  caged  up  there.  I 
used  to  call  myself  by  that  false  name  lest  you  might 
inadvertently  talk  too  much,  and  so  somehow  it  might 
come  to  her  ears. 

Sophrona.  Then,  by  the  powers,  that  's  why  we 
poor  women  could  never  find  you  here  in  Athens. 

Chremes.  But  tell  me,  what  have  you  to  do  with 
that  house  you  've  just  left  ?  Where  are  my  wife  and 
daughter  ? 

Sophrona.  Oh,  dear  me  ! 

Chremes.  What 's  the  matter?  Are  n't  they 
alive? 

Sophrona.  Your  daughter  is,  but  all  this  trouble 
killed  her  mother. 

Chremes.  That 's  too  bad ! 

Sophrona.  So  I  —  being  an  old  woman,  all  alone, 
poor,  and  friendless  —  did  the  best  I  could  for  the 
girl,  and  married  her  to  the  young  master  of  this 
house. 

Chremes.   What,  to  Antipho  ? 

Sophrona.   Yes,  that 's  the  man. 

Chremes.   What,  has  he  two  wives  ? 

Sophrona.   No,  only  this  one. 


44  TERENCE 

Chremes.  Then  what  about  the  other  who  was 
said  to  be  his  kinswoman  ? 

Sophrona.    Why,  this  is  she,  of  course. 

Chremes.    What 's  that  ? 

Sophrona.  We  made  up  that  story,  so  that  her 
lover  might  get  her  without  a  dowry. 

Chremes.  Gracious  Heavens  !  How  often  things  one 
dares  not  hope  for  are  brought  about  by  mere  chance ! 
On  my  return  home  I  've  found  my  daughter  mar- 
ried to  the  man  I  wanted  and  in  the  way  I  wanted. 
With  great  trouble  to  himself,  but  without  troubling 
us  in  the  least,  he,  all  alone,  has  done  what  my  bro- 
ther and  I  were  trying  so  hard  to  do. 

Sophrona.  Now  see  what 's  to  be  done.  The  young 
man's  father  has  come  home,  and  they  say  that  he  's 
very  angry. 

Chremes.  Never  fear ;  but  in  the  name  of  gods 
and  men  don't  let  anybody  know  that  she 's  ray 
daughter. 

Sophrona.    Nobody  shall  know  through  me. 

Chremes.  Come  with  me ;  I  '11  tell  you  the  rest  in- 
side. [Exeunt  CHREMES  and  SOPHRONA  into  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  1. 
Enter  DEMIPHO  and  GETA,  R. 

Demipho.  It 's  our  own  fault  that  we  make  it  men's 
interest  to  be  rogues.  We  're  too  eager  to  be  called  good 
and  kind.  "  Run,  but  not  past  your  own  house,"  as  the 
saying  is.1  Was  n't  it  enough  for  me  to  have  been 

1  Run  away,  if  it  is  necessary,  but  not  so  precipitately  as  to  pnss 
your  natural  shelter ;  don't  let  your  panic  drive  you  to  extremes. 


PHORMIO  45 

wronged  by  the  fellow,  without  actually  throwing 
away  money,  and  giving  him  means  of  subsistence 
until  he  can  bring  off  some  new  villainy  ? 

Geta.   Assuredly. 

Chremes.  The  people  who  get  rewarded  nowadays 
are  those  who  put  wrong  for  right. 

Geta.   Very  true. 

Demipho.  So  we  've  managed  matters  very  badly 
in  dealing  with  him. 

Geta.  It  '11  be  all  right,  provided  you  can  end  the 
affair  as  you  planned,  by  getting  him  to  marry  her. 

Demipho.    What !    Is  there  any  doubt  about  that  ? 

Geta.  Indeed,  I  'm  rather  inclined  to  fear  (know- 
ing the  man's  character)  that  he  may  change  his  mind. 

Demipho.    What !     Change  his  mind  ? 

Geta.   I  don't  know,  I  only  say  "  he  might." 

Demipho.  I  '11  do  as  my  brother  advised :  I  '11  bring 
his  wife  here  to  talk  to  her.  Geta,  go  on  ahead,  and 
tell  Phanium  that  Nausistrata  is  coming. 

[Exit  DEMIPHO  into  CHREMES'  house. 

Geta.  We  've  found  the  money  for  Phaedria  ;  there 
has  n't  been  a  word  said  about  the  lawsuit ;  we  've  ar- 
ranged that  the  girl  shan't  leave  just  yet.  What 
next  ?  What  's  to  be  done  now  ?  You  're  still  in  the 
same  fix,  Geta ;  it 's  a  case  of  paying  one  with  what 
you  've  borrowed  from  another.  The  punishment  that 
was  close  at  hand  has  been  staved  off  for  a  while,  but 
your  score  of  stripes  will  mount  up  unless  you  look 
out.  Now  I  '11  go  home  and  explain  matters  to 
Phanium,  so  that  she  won't  be  afraid  of  Phormio  or 
of  what  Nausistrata  may  say. 

[Exit  into  DEMIPHO'S  house. 


46  TERENCE 

SCENE  2. 
Enter  DEMIPHO  and  NAUsiSTRATA/rom  CHREMES'  house. 

Demipho.  Now,  Nausistrata,  with  your  wonted  tact, 
get  her  into  a  good  humor  with  us,  so  that  she  '11  do 
willingly  what  she  has  to  do. 

Nausistrata.    I  will. 

Demipho.  You  're  helping  me  by  your  services 
now,  just  as  you  assisted  me  with  your  money  a  little 
while  ago. 

Nausistrata.  You  're  quite  welcome,  but  indeed 
I  'm  less  able  to  help  you,  through  my  husband's 
fault,  than  I  ought  to  be. 

Demipho.    Why  ? 

Nausistrata.  Because  he  's  careless  of  my  father's 
honest  earnings.  My  father  used  to  get  two  talents  a 
year  regularly  out  of  those  estates.  What  a  difference 
there  is  between  one  man  and  another ! 

Demipho.   Two  talents,  you  say  ? 

Nausistrata.  Yes,  two  talents,  and  that,  too,  when 
things  were  much  cheaper  than  they  are  now. 

Demipho.   Heavens ! 

Nausistrata.   What  do  you  think  of  that  ? 

Demipho.   Oh,  I  quite  agree  with  you. 

Nausistrata.  I  wish  I  'd  been  born  a  man,  I  should 
have  shown  them  — 

Demipho.   I  'm  sure  you  would. 

Nausistrata.   How  to  — 

Demipho.  Pray,  spare  yourself  for  your  interview 
with  the  girl,  lest,  being  so  young,  she  tire  you  out. 

Nausistrata.  I  '11  do  as  you  wish  ;  but  I  see  my 
husband  coming  out  of  your  house. 


PHORMIO  47 

SCENE  3. 
Enter  CHREMES /rom  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

Ohremes  (not  seeing  his  wife).  'St,  Demipho,  have 
you  paid  him  the  money  ? 

Demipho.   I  looked  after  that  at  once. 

Chremes.  I  wish  you  had  n't.  Oh !  I  see  my  wife ! 
I  had  almost  said  too  much. 

Demipho.  Why  do  you  wish  I  had  n't  paid  it, 
Chremes  ? 

Chremes.    It  does  n't  matter. 

Demipho.  What  do  you  mean  ?  Have  you  been 
talking  to  the  girl  on  whose  account  we  're  bringing 
Nausistrata  ? 

Chremes.   I  've  settled  it  all. 

Demipho.    What  does  she  say  ? 

Chremes.   She  can't  be  taken  away. 

Demipho.    Why  can't  she  ? 

Chremes.  Because  they  're  in  love  with  one  an- 
other. 

Demipho.    Well,  what 's  that  to  us  ? 
i    Chrem.es.   A  great  deal ;  and,  besides,  I  find  that 
she  's  related  to  us. 

Demipho.   What  ?     You  're  raving. 

Chremes.  You  '11  find  it  so.  I  know  what  I  'm 
saying  ;  I  've  just  recalled  the  matter. 

Demipho.    Are  you  in  your  right  mind  ? 

Nausistrata.  Oh,  I  pray  you,  don't  wrong  a  kins- 
woman. 

Demipho.   She  is  n't  a  kinswoman. 

Chremes.  Don't  contradict  me.  Her  father  went 
under  a  different  name;  that's  how  you  made  the 
mistake. 


48  TERENCE 

Demipho.    Did  n't  she  know  her  father  ? 

Chremes.    Yes. 

Demipho.  Then  why  did  she  call  him  by  a  wrong 
name? 

Chremes.   Won't  you  ever  give  in  or  understand  ? 

Demipho.  How  can  I  understand  when  you  tell  me 
nothing  ? 

Chremes.  There  you  go  again. 

Nausistrata.    I  wonder  what  all  this  is  about  ? 

Demipho.    I  'm  sure  I  don't  know. 

Chremes.  Do  you  want  to  know  ?  "Well,  the  girl 
has  no  nearer  relatives  than  you  and  I,  and  that 's 
the  truth. 

Demipho.  Good  Heavens  !  let 's  go  to  her.  I  want 
all  of  us  to  know  the  right  and  wrong  of  the  case  to- 
gether. 

Chremes.    Oh,  Demipho ! 

Demipho.   What 's  the  matter  ? 

Chremes.  To  think  that  you  should  have  so  little 
faith  in  me  ! 

Demipho.  Oh,  you  want  me  to  believe  you,  do  you  ? 
You  want  me  to  stop  asking  questions?  Well,  so 
be  it.  But  what  about  our  friend's  daughter  ?  < 

Chremes.   That 's  all  right. 

Demipho.   Then  are  we  to  send  Nausistrata  away  ? 

Chremes.   Of  course. 

Demipho.   And  Phanium  is  to  stay  ? 

Chremes.   Yes. 

Demipho.    Then  you  may  go  home,  Nausistrata. 

Nausistrata.  And  indeed  I  think  that  her  staying 
is  a  much  better  arrangement  for  all  of  us  than  what 
you  intended  at  first.  I  thought  her  a  very  well-bred 
girl,  when  I  saw  her.  [Exit  into  CHREMES'  house. 

Demipho.   Now,  what 's  all  this  about  ? 


PHOEMIO  49 

Chremes.   Has  she  shut  the  door  yet  ? 

Demipho.   Yes. 

Chremes.  Heavens,  what  luck !  I  've  found  my 
daughter  married  to  your  son. 

Demipho.   Eh !  how  could  that  be  ? 

Chremes.   I  can't  explain  here.     It 's  not  safe. 

Demipho.   Well,  come  inside,  then. 

Chremes.  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  even  our  sons  to 
know  this.  [JZxeunt  into  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

SCENE  4. 
Enter  ANTIPHO. 

Antipho.  However  my  own  affairs  may  turn  out, 
I  'm  glad  my  cousin  has  got  what  he  wanted.  How 
shrewd  to  have  a  love  affair  of  the  kind  that  wlien 
things  go  wrong,  a  remedy  is  possible  !  As  soon  as 
Phaedria  found  the  money,  all  his  troubles  were  at  an 
end ;  but  I  can't  by  any  device  free  myself  from  my 
difficulties.  To  keep  my  secret  means  to  live  in  dread ; 
to  reveal  it,  disgrace.  I  shouldn't  go  home  now,  if 
some  hope  of  keeping  her  hadn't  been  held  out  to 
me.  But  where  can  I  find  Geta  ? 

SCENE  5. 
Enter  PHORMIO. 

Phormio  (not  seeing  ANTIPHO).  I've  received 
the  money,  paid  it  over  to  the  slave-trader,  and  taken 
the  girl  away.  I  've  seen  that  Phaedria  has  her  for 
his  very  own  ;  she  's  been  set  free.  Now,  I  've  still 
one  thing  left  to  do,  and  that 's  to  get  away  from  the 
old  gentlemen  for  a  spree.  That 's  how  I  '11  spend 
the  next  few  days. 

Antipho.   Why,  there  's  Phormio.     Say  I 


50  TERENCE 

Phormio.   What? 

Antipho.  Tell  me  Phaedria's  plans.  What  does 
he  intend  to  do? 

Phormio.   He  's  going  to  play  your  rQle. 

Antipho.   My  r61e  ? 

Phormio.  Yes,  keep  out  of  his  father's  sight.  He 's 
asked  that  you  play  his,  and  plead  his  cause,  for  he 's 
coming  to  my  house  to  take  a  few  drinks.  I  '11  tell 
the  old  gentlemen  that  I  'm  going  to  the  fair  at  Su- 
nium  to  buy  that  slave  girl  whom  Geta  was  talking 
about  just  now,  so  that  when  they  miss  me  they  won't 
think  that  I  'm  squandering  their  money.  But  listen, 
there 's  some  one  at  your  door. 

Antipho.   See  who  's  coming  out. 

Phormio.   It 's  Geta. 

SCENE  6. 
Enter  GETA/rom  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

GETA  (not  seeing  the  others).  O  Fortune !  O 
lucky  Fortune !  What  blessings  you  have  showered 
on  my  master  Antipho  this  day  ! 

Antipho.   What  does  the  fellow  mean  ? 

Geta.  And  freed  us,  his  friends,  from  fear !  But 
I  'm  wasting  time  in  not  throwing  my  cloak  over  my 
shoulder,1  and  hurrying  to  tell  him  what  has  befallen 
him. 

Antipho  (to  PHORMIO).  Do  you  understand  what 
he 's  talking  about  ? 

Phormio.   No,  do  you  ? 

Antipho.    No,  not  a  word. 

Phormio.   No  more  do  I. 

1  The  cloak  was  thrown  back  over  the  shoulder  to  make  miming 
eaner. 


PHORMIO  51 

Geta.  I  '11  go  to  the  slave-trader's ;  that 's  where 
they  are  now. 

Antipho.  Hi,  Geta ! 

Geta.  There  you  are  !  Is  it  a  new  or  clever  thing 
to  call  me  back  just  when  I  've  started  running?  * 

Antipho.   Geta ! 

Geta.  By  the  powers,  he 's  urgent.  Well,  you 
shan't  get  the  better  of  me  by  pestering  me. 

Antipho.    Won't  you  stop  ? 

Geta.   To  the  whipping-post  with  you  ! 

Antipho.  That  's  where  you  '11  be  presently,  unless 
you  halt,  you  scoundrel. 

Geta.  This  must  be  some  one  who  knows  me  pretty 
well :  he  threatens  me  with  punishment.  Is  it  the 
man  I  'm  looking  for  ?  Why,  so  it  is.  I  '11  accost 
him. 

Antipho.    What 's  the  matter  ? 

Geta.  Oh,  you  luckiest  of  all  men  in  the  whole  wide 
world !  there  can  be  no  doubt,  Antipho,  but  that 
you  're  the  special  favorite  of  the  gods. 

Antipho.  I  would  that  I  were  ;  but  I  should  like 
to  be  told  why  I  'm  to  believe  this. 

Geta.  To  be  steeped  in  joy  —  will  that  be  enough 
for  you  ? 

Antipho.   How  you  do  keep  me  on  the  rack  ! 

Phormio.  Enough  of  your  promises  !  Tell  us  your 
news. 

Geta.   Oh,  are  you  here  too,  Phormio  ? 

Phormio.    Yes,  but  won't  you  tell  us  ? 

Geta.  Listen,  then.  As  soon  as  we  had  paid  you 
the  money  at  the  bank,  we  started  straight  home ; 
then  my  master  sent  me  to  your  wife. 

Antipho.   What  for  ? 

1  To  hail  a  slave  who  seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry  was  a  common  joke. 


52  TERENCE 

Geta.  I  '11  not  speak  of  that,  Antipho,  for  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  this  story.  When  I  was  about  to 
enter  the  women's  apartments,  the  page  Midas  ran  up 
to  me,  caught  me  by  the  cloak  behind,  and  pulled  me 
back.  I  looked  around,  and  asked  him  why  he  was 
detaining  me  ;  he  answered  that  his  mistress  could  n't 
be  seen  —  those  were  his  orders.  "  Sophrona,"  he 
said,  "  has  just  brought  in  Chremes,  the  old  man's 
brother,  and  he  's  inside  with  them  now."  When  I 
heard  this,  I  proceeded  to  go  quietly  up  to  the  door 
on  tiptoe  —  reached  it  —  stood  there  —  held  my 
breath  —  put  my  ear  close  to :  so  1  began  to  listen, 
trying  in  this  way  to  catch  what  they  were  saying. 

Antipho.    Bravo,  Geta ! 

Geta.  There  I  heard  this  glorious  thing,  so  that  I 
all  but  shouted  aloud  for  joy. 

Antipho.    What  was  it  ? 

Geta.    What  do  you  think  ? 

Antipho.    I  don't  know. 

Geta.  Well,  it 's  a  truly  wonderful  story.  Your 
uncle  turns  out  to  be  your  wife's  father. 

Antipho.   Eh,  what  do  you  say  ? 

Geta.  He  had  a  clandestine  affair  with  her  mother 
at  Lemnos. 

Phormio.  It 's  a  dream.  Can  we  suppose  that  she 
did  n't  know  her  own  father  ? 

Geta.  There  was  some  reason  for  that,  Phormio, 
you  may  be  sure ;  but  do  you  think  that  outside  the 
door  I  could  understand  everything  that  was  going  on 
inside  ? 

Antipho.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  've  had  an  inkling 
of  that  tale  too. 

Geta.  Well,  I  '11  give  you  a  proof  to  make  you  be- 
lieve it.  While  this  was  going  on  your  uncle  crossed 


PHORMIO  53 

over  from  that  house  to  this  ;  presently  he  went  back 
again  with  your  father.  They  both  say  that  they  con- 
sent to  your  keeping  her.  And,  to  clinch  the  matter, 
I  've  been  sent  to  find  you  and  to  take  you  to  them. 

Antipho.  Then  away  with  me  instantly !  Why 
don't  you  go  ? 

Geta.   I  will. 

Antipho.    Good-by,  my  dear  Phormio. 

Phormio.  Good-by,  Antipho.  It  's  turned  out 
well,  so  help  me  Heaven ! 

[Exeunt  ANTIPHO  and  GETA  to  DEMIPHO'S  house. 

SCENE  7. 

Phormio.  I  'm  glad  that  these  two  have  had  such 
an  unexpected  piece  of  luck.  Now  I  have  an  excel- 
lent chance  of  outwitting  the  old  gentlemen  and  reliev- 
ing Phaedria  of  his  financial  worries,  so  that  he  won't 
have  to  ask  favors  of  any  of  his  friends ;  for  this 
money  shall  be  given  to  him  just  as  it  was  given  to 
me,  whether  they  like  it  or  not.  I  've  found  in  the 
facts  of  the  case  the  means  to  make  them  give  it. 
Now  I  must  assume  a  new  bearing  and  expression. 
I  '11  go  into  this  alley  hard  by,  and  come  out  upon 
them  when  they  leave  the  house.  I  'm  not  going  to 
the  fair,  as  I  pretended.  [  Withdraws  into  alley. 

SCENE  8. 
Enter  DEMTPHO  and  CHREMES/rom  the  former's  house. 

Demipho.   Brother,  I  am  indeed  truly  thankful  to 
Heaven  for  this  satisfactory  settlement. 
Chremes.   Is  n't  she  a  lady,  as  I  said  ? 
Demipho.    She   certainly   is.     Now   we  must   get 


54  TERENCE 

hold  of  Phormio  as  soon  as  possible,  and  get  our  thirty 
minae  away  from  him  before  he  squanders  them. 

Phormio  (coming  forward^).  I  should  like  to  see 
Demipho,  if  he 's  at  home,  to  — 

Demipho.  Why,  we  were  just  going  to  you, 
Phormio. 

Phormio.   For  the  same  reason,  perhaps  ? 

Demipho.   Yes. 

Phormio.  That 's  what  I  thought.  And  why  were 
you  coming  to  me  ? 

Demipho.   Such  a  question  ! 

Phormio.  Did  you  think  that  I  would  n't  do  what  I 
had  once  undertaken'?  Now,  mark  you,  I  may  be  poor, 
but  I  've  always  made  a  point  of  preserving  my  honor. 
So  I  've  come  to  you,  Demipho,  to  say  that  I  'm  ready. 
Give  me  my  wife  as  soon  as  you  please,  for  on  seeing 
how  you  had  set  your  hearts  on  this  I  deferred  all 
other  business,  as  it  was  right  I  should. 

Demipho.  But  my  brother  here  has  counselled  me 
not  to  give  her  to  you.  "  Think,"  he  says,  "  what  a 
scandal  it  will  make,  if  you  do  ;  she  was  n't  given  be- 
fore, when  it  might  have  been  done  honorably,  and 
it 's  a  shame  to  drive  her  out  of  doors  now  as  a 
divorced  woman."  He  used  pretty  nearly  the  same 
arguments  as  you  did  to  me  a  little  while  ago. 

Phormio.   You  're  treating  me  pretty  cavalierly. 

Demipho.   How  so  ? 

Phormio.  Do  you  ask  ?  Because  I  shan't  be  able 
to  marry  the  other  girl  either,  for  how  could  I  have 
the  face  to  go  back  to  her  whom  I  jilted  ? 

Chremes  (aside  to  DEMIPHO).  Say,  "Besides,  I 
see  that  Antipho  does  n't  want  to  part  with  her." 

Demipho.  Besides,  I  see  that  my  son  does  n't  want 
to  part  with  his  wife.  But,  Phormio,  pray  come  to 
the  bank,  and  have  that  money  paid  back  to  me. 


PHORMIO  55 

Phormio.  What !  the  money  I  paid  out  at  once  to 
my  creditors  ? 

Demipho.    What 's  to  be  done,  then  ? 

Phormio.  If  you  like  to  give  me  the  girl  whom 
you  've  promised  me,  I  '11  marry  her ;  but  if  you 
choose  that  she  should  stay  with  you,  her  dowry  must 
stay  with  me  ;  for  it 's  not  right  that  I  should  be  disap- 
pointed to  suit  your  convenience,  seeing  that,  on  your 
account,  I  jilted  the  other  girl,  who  was  bringing  me 
a  dowry  of  the  same  amount. 

Demipho.  To  perdition  with  you,  you  swaggering 
scoundrel !  Do  you  think  that  we  know  so  little  of 
you  and  your  doings  as  that  ? 

Phormio.   I  'm  getting  angry. 

Demipho.  As  if  you  would  marry  her  if  she  were 
offered  to  you ! 

Phormio.   Try  me ! 

Demipho.  Your  plan  was  that  my  son  should  keep 
his  wife  in  your  house. 

Phormio.   Pray,  what  are  you  talking  about  ? 

Demipho.  Just  you  give  me  my  money. 

Phormio.   No,  you  give  me  my  wife. 

Demipho.   Then  to  court  with  you. 

Phormio.   Indeed,  if  you  trouble  me  any  more  — 

Demipho.    What  will  you  do  ? 

Phormio.  I?  Perhaps  you  think  that  I  act  as 
champion  for  dowerless  women  only  ?  I  do  the  same 
for  women  with  dowries. 

Chremes.   What  has  that  to  do  with  us  ? 

Phormio.  Oh,  nothing.  I  knew  a  married  woman 
here  in  Athens  whose  husband  — 

Chremes.   Eh  ? 

Demipho.   What 's  that  ? 

Phormio.   Had  another  wife  in  Lemnos. 

Chremes.   I  'm  a  lost  man. 


56  TERENCE 

Phormio.  And  he  had  a  daughter  by  her,  whom 
he  brought  up  secretly. 

Chremes.    I  'm  dead  and  buried. 

Phormio.  So  I  'm  going  now  to  tell  her  this  story. 
(Starts  towards  CHREMES'  house.) 

Chremes.    I  entreat  you,  don't. 

Phormio.   Oho !  were  you  the  man  ? 

Demipho.   How  he  mocks  us  ! 

Chremes.   We  grant  you  a  quittance. 

Phormio.   Oh,  nonsense ! 

Chremes.  What  more  do  you  want?  We  make 
you  a  present  of  the  money  that  you  have. 

Phormio.  Yes,  yes  !  You  silly  old  men,  what  the 
mischief  do  you  mean  by  playing  with  me  in  this  way, 
like  children  that  don't  know  their  own  minds  ?  "I 
will "  and  "  I  won't  "  —  "  I  will,"  and  then  again  "  I 
won't  "  —  "  take  her,"  "  give  her  up,"  -  —  "  what  has 
been  said  is  all  unsaid ;  the  bargain  which  has  just 
been  struck  is  void." 

Chremes  (to  DEMIPHO).  How  or  from  whom  did 
he  learn  this  ? 

Demipho  (to  CHREMES).  I  don't  know,  but  I'm 
quite  sure  that  I  did  n't  tell  anybody. 

Chremes  (to  DEMIPHO).  So  help  me  Heaven,  it 's 
like  a  miracle. 

Phormio  (aside).    I  've  put  a  spoke  in  their  wheel. 

Demipho  (to  CHREMES).  Come,  is  this  fellow  to 
carry  off  so  large  a  sum  of  money  from  us,  and  laugh 
at  us  so  openly  ?  Better  to  die,  by  Heaven  !  Prepare 
to  act  boldly,  and  with  presence  of  mind.  You  see 
that  your  transgression  has  got  abroad,  and  you  can't 
keep  it  from  your  wife  any  longer.  Now,  Chremes, 
the  best  way  to  win  forgiveness  is  to  tell  her  ourselves 
what  she 's  certain  to  learn  some  day  from  others ;  then 


PHORMIO  57 

we  shall  be  able  to  take  vengeance  on  this  scoundrel 
in  our  own  way. 

Phormio  (aside).  Hello !  unless  I  keep  a  sharp 
lookout  I  '11  be  in  a  fix  ;  they  're  coming  at  me  with 
the  spirit  of  gladiators. 

Chremes  (to  DEMIPHO).  But  I  'm  afraid  she  '11 
never  forgive  me. 

Demipho  {to  CHREMES).  Cheer  up,  I  '11  restore 
you  to  favor  with  her,  Chremes.  There 's  the  fact 
that  the  girl's  mother  has  passed  away  to  fall  back 
upon. 

Phormio.  So  this  is  how  you  treat  me  ?  A  clever 
enough  plan  of  attack  !  But,  Demipho,  you  've  done 
your  brother  no  good  in  goading  me  on.  {To 
CHREMES.)  What!  after  amusing  yourself  as  you 
pleased  in  foreign  parts,  and  showing  so  little  respect 
to  your  wife  here,  a  lady  of  birth  too,  as  to  insult 
her  in  this  outrageous  way,  you  mean  to  go  whining 
to  her  for  forgiveness,  do  you  ?  By  telling  her  the 
whole  story,  I  '11  so  kindle  her  wrath  that  you  '11 
never  quench  the  flames,  even  though  you  dissolved 
in  tears. 

Demipho.  To  think  of  any  man  being  so  impu- 
dent !  The  scoundrel  ought  to  be  transported  at  the 
public  expense  to  some  desert  land. 

Chremes.  He  's  got  me  in  so  tight  a  place  that  I 
really  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him. 

Demipho.   I  know  ;  let 's  go  to  law. 

Phormio.  To  law,  certainly.  In  this  court,  if  you 
please.  (  Goes  towards  CHREMES'  house.) 

Chremes.  After  him !  Hold  him  back,  while  I  call 
the  slaves  out !  (DEMIPHO  takes  hold  of  PHORMIO.) 

Demipho.  But  I  can't  hold  him  alone ;  come  and 
help  me.  (CHREMES  takes  hold  of  PHORMIO.) 


58  TERENCE 

Phormio  (to  DEMIPHO).  One  action  for  assault 
against  you. 

Demipho.    Go  to  law,  then. 

Phormio.   Another  against  you,  Chremes. 

Chremes.  Drag  him  away. 

Phormio.  Is  that  your  game  ?  then  I  must  use  my 
voice.  Nausistrata,  come  forth. 

Chremes.  Stop  his  vile  mouth ;  see  how  strong  he 
is! 

Phormio.   Nausistrata,  I  say ! 

Demipho.    Won't  you  be  quiet  ? 

Phormio.   I  be  quiet? 

Demipho.  If  he  won't  come  along,  punch  him  in 
the  belly. 

Phormio.  Or  knock  his  eye  out ;  the  time  is  com- 
ing when  I  shall  have  a  fine  revenge  on  you. 

SCENE  9. 
Enter  NAusiSTRATA/rom  CHREMES'  house. 

Nausistrata.  Who  's  calling  me  ?  Why,  husband, 
what  in  the  world  is  all  this  disturbance  about  ? 

Phormio  (to  CHREMES).  Well,  why  do  you  stand 
like  a  mute  ? 

Nausistrata.  Who's  this  man?  Why  don't  you 
answer  me  ? 

Phormio.  He  answer  you !  Why,  he  does  n't  know 
where  he  is. 

Chremes.    Mind  you,  don't  believe  a  word  he  says. 

Phormio.  Go  up  to  him,  touch  him  ;  if  he  is  n't  in 
a  cold  sweat  all  over,  you  may  kill  me. 

Chremes.    It 's  all  a  lie. 

Nausistrata.  What's  a  lie?  What  story  is  he 
telling  ? 


PHORMIO  59 

Phormio.    You  shall  know  presently.     Listen. 

Chremes.   What,  will  you  believe  him  ? 

Nausistrata.  And  pray  how  can  I  believe  him  be- 
fore he  has  told  me  anything  ? 

Phormio.   The  wretch  is  scared  out  of  his  wits. 

Nausistrata.  Indeed,  it  can't  be  for  nothing  that 
you  're  so  afraid. 

Chremes.   I  afraid  ? 

Phormio.  Oh,  no,  not  at  all!  Since  you're  not 
afraid,  and  the  story  I  tell  is  all  a  lie,  do  you  tell  it 
yourself. 

Demipho.  Scoundrel!  Is  he  to  tell  it  to  please 
you? 

Phormio.  You  've  done  your  brother  a  good  turn, 
you  have ! 

Nausistrata.   Husband,  won't  you  tell  me  ? 

Chremes.   But  — 

Nausistrata.   But  what  ? 

Chremes.  It  is  n't  worth  telling. 

Phormio.  It  is  n't  worth  your  while  to  tell,  but  it 
is  worth  her  while  to  hear.  In  Lemnos  — 

Chremes.   Here,  what  are  you  saying  ? 

Demipho.   Hold  your  tongue,  will  you  ? 

Phormio.   Without  your  knowledge  — 

Chremes.   I  'm  in  for  it ! 

Phormio.   He  married  a  wife. 

Nausistrata.   Oh,  husband,  the  gods  forbid  ! 

Phormio.   That  's  the  truth. 

•     Nausistrata.   Unhappy  woman  that  I  am,  it 's  all 
over  with  me ! 

Phormio.  And  by  her  he 's  had  one  daughter  al- 
ready, while  you  're  in  a  state  of  blissful  ignorance. 

Chremes  (aside  to  DEMIPHO).  What  are  we  to 
do? 


60  TERENCE 

Nausistrata.  A  wicked  and  terrible  thing,  by  the 
immortal  gods ! 

Phormio  (overhearing  CHREMES).  Do?  There's 
nothing  left  to  do. 

Phormio.  Was  there  ever  anything  more  disgrace- 
ful? 

Nausistrata.  I  address  you,  Demipho,  for  it  makes 
me  sick  to  talk  to  that  creature.  Was  this  the  rea- 
son of  his  travelling  so  often  to  Lemnos  and  stay- 
ing there  so  long?  Was  this  the  cause  of  the  fall 
in  prices  which  brought  down  our  income  ? 

Demipho.  Nausistrata,  I  admit  that  he  deserves 
blame  in  this  matter,  but  it  is  n't  an  unpardonable 
offence. 

Phormio  (aside).   He  's  pleading  for  the  dead. 

Demipho.  It  wasn't,  you  must  understand,  because 
he  was  tired  of  you,  or  because  he  disliked  you,  that 
he  did  this.  It  all  happened  about  fifteen  years  ago. 
He  had  been  drinking  when  he  met  the  woman.  This 
girl  was  born,  but  he  never  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  mother  afterwards.  She  's  dead  and  gone  now ; 
the  only  difficulty  is  removed.  So,  I  beg  you,  be  pa- 
tient in  this,  as  you  have  been  in  all  other  matters. 

Nausistrata.  I  patient  ?  I  am  indeed  sorely  anx- 
ious that  this  should  be  his  last  offence,  but  how  can 
I  hope  for  that?  Am  I  to  suppose  that  he  will  grow 
steadier  as  he  grows  older  ?  Why,  he  was  old  when 
he  did  it ;  so  much  for  years  bringing  steadiness ! 
Are  my  looks  and  age  likely  to  be  more  attractive  to. 
him  now  than  they  were  then,  Demipho?  What 
grounds  do  you  give  me  for  expecting  or  hoping  that 
he  won't  do  it  again  ? 

Phormio.  Now  's  the  time  for  all  who  would  attend 
the  funeral  of  Chremes  !  That  's  the  way  I  '11  give  it 


PHORMIO  61 

to  him.  Such  is  the  fate  of  those  who  attack  Phormio, 
so  let  any  one  who  likes  come  on,  and  I  '11  lay  him  as 
low  as  this  man  here.  But  I  'm  willing  that  he  should 
be  pardoned ;  he  's  had  punishment  enough  to  satisfy 
me.  His  wife  has  something  to  din  into  his  ears  as 
long  as  he  lives. 

Nausistrata.  Well,  I  've  deserved  this,  I  suppose. 
What 's  the  good  of  my  telling  you  now  in  detail, 
Demipho,  what  a  good  wife  I  've  been  to  him? 

Demipho.   I  know  it  all  as  well  as  you  do. 

Nausistrata.  Then  do  you  think  that  I  deserved 
such  treatment  ? 

Demipho.  Not  in  the  least.  But  seeing  that  what 's 
done  can't  be  undone  by  reproaches,  forgive  him.  He 
begs  your  pardon,  acknowledges  his  sin,  and  makes  a 
clean  breast  of  it.  What  more  do  you  want? 

Phormio  (aside).  Before  she  forgives  him,  I  must 
look  out  for  myself  and  for  Phaedria.  Look  here, 
Nausistrata,  before  you  give  any  rash  answer,  listen 
to  me. 

Nausistrata.    What  have  you  to  say  ? 

Phormio.  I  got  thirty  minae  out  of  him  by  a  trick  ; 
I  've  given  them  to  your  son,  who  has  bought  his 
mistress  with  them  from  a  slave-trader. 

Chremes.   Eh,  what 's  that  you  say  ? 

Nausistrata.  Pray,  do  you  think  it  such  a  heinous 
crime  that  your  son,  who  is  a  young  man,  should  have 
a  mistress,  while  you  have  two  wives  ?  Have  you  no 
shame  ?  Will  you  have  the  face  to  blame  him  ?  An- 
swer me. 

Demipho.   He  '11  do  as  you  wish. 

Nausistrata.  No,  to  tell  you  my  feeling  in  the 
matter,  I  don't  mean  to  pardon  him  or  to  make  any 
promise,  or  even  to  give  an  answer,  until  I  've  seen  my 


62  TERENCE 

son  ;  I  leave  it  all  to  him  to  decide ;  I  '11  do  what  he 
bids  me. 

Phormio.   You  're  a  sensible  woman,  Nausistrata. 

Nausistrata  (to  CHEEMES).  Are  you  satisfied  with 
that? 

Chremes.  Yes.  (Aside.*)  I 'm  coming  off  finely, — 
much  better  than  I  expected. 

Nausistrata.   Tell  me  your  name. 

Phormio.  Phormio,  a  friend  of  your  family,  and 
especially  of  your  son  Phaedria. 

Nausistrata.  Well,  Phormio,  I  assure  you,  after 
this  I  '11  do  whatever  I  can  for  you,  both  in  word  and 
deed. 

Phormio.   You  're  very  kind. 

Nausistrata.   Not  at  all,  you  deserve  it. 

Phormio.  Would  you  like,  Nausistrata,  to  do 
something  to-day  that  would  please  me,  and  at  the 
same  time  vex  your  husband's  sight  ? 

Nausistrata.    I  certainly  should. 

Phormio.   Then  invite  me  to  dinner. 

Nausistrata.   Indeed  I  do. 

Demipho.    Let 's  go  inside,  then. 

Nausistrata.  Yes,  but  where 's  Phaedria,  our 
judge  ? 

Phormio.    I  '11  have  him  here  presently. 

[Exeunt   PHORMIO   towards   the  forum,   the  others   into 
CHREMES'  house. 

Cantor  l  (to  the  audience).  Farewell,  and  give  us 
your  applause. 

1  The  cantor,  whose  principal  function  was  to  siug  the  lyrical  parts 
of  the  play,  always  spoke  the  last  words. 


LUCRETIUS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

ST.  JEROME  in  his  Chronicle  places  the  birth  of  Lucre- 
tius in  the  year  94,  adding  that  after  having  become  insane 
by  drinking  a  love  philtre  he  wrote  some  books  in  the  lucid 
intervals  of  his  madness ;  that  he  committed  suicide  in  his 
forty-fourth  year,  and  that  Cicero  revised  his  work.  From 
other  sources  it  seems  probable  that  97  and  not  94  was  the 
year  of  the  poet's  birth.  The  remaining  statements  of  St. 
Jerome's  notice  are  likewise  open  to  grave  question.  The 
story  of  the  love  philtre  may  be  dismissed  without  discus- 
sion ;  and  there  is  no  confirmation  of  the  assertions  con- 
cerning his  madness  and  suicide.  The  Cicero  mentioned  is 
probably  the  famous  orator,  but  even  this  is  uncertain. 

His  poem  On  the  Nature  of  Things  consists  of  six  books, 
and  is  an  exposition  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Epicurean  phi- 
losophy. The  first  two  books  are  devoted  to  the  atomic 
theory  in  its  more  general  aspects.  Starting  from  the  two 
fundamental  principles  that  nothing  is  produced  from  no- 
thing and  that  nothing  returns  to  nothing,  he  explains 
the  existence  of  the  universe,  of  all  forms  of  life,  of  all 
natural  phenomena,  as  due  to  the  chance  combination  of  an 
infinite  number  of  atoms  moving  in  an  infinite  void.  The 
atoms  have  existed  from  all  eternity,  and  are  indestructi- 
ble. They  are  of  extreme  minuteness,  indivisible,  and  im- 
perceptible by  any  of  the  senses.  Having  an  inherent 
power  of  deflection  they  swerve  from  the  straight  line  as 
they  fall,  and,  colliding,  combine  in  forms  of  manifold  va- 
riety. The  third  book  deals  with  the  constitution  of  the 


64  LUCRETIUS 

soul,  which  is,  like  everything  else,  material,  consisting  of 
small  round  atoms  of  unusual  fineness.  It  cannot  exist 
apart  from  the  body.  In  the  fourth  book  we  have  a  treat- 
ment of  sense  perceptions ;  in  the  fifth,  of  the  formation  of 
the  world,  the  origin  of  life,  and  the  development  of  man  ; 
in  the  sixth,  of  such  natural  phenomena  as  thunder,  light- 
ning, and  earthquakes.  The  poem  concludes  with  an  ac- 
count of  the  plague  at  Athens. 

It  was  not,  however,  so  much  the  theory  of  Epicurus  that 
attracted  Lucretius  as  its  practical  application.  In  his 
view  of  life  there  were  two  principal  causes  of  unhappiness  : 
belief  in  the  interference  of  the  gods  in  the  affairs  of  the 
world,  and  fear  of  death.  He  welcomed  the  Epicurean 
philosophy,  because,  as  he  believed,  it  proved  that  both 
were  groundless.  Epicurus  did,  it  is  true,  believe  in  the 
existence  of  gods,  but  the  atomic  theory  excluded  them 
from  all  part  in  the  creation  and  management  of  the  world. 
They  lived  in  perfect  tranquillity  somewhere  in  the  vast 
spaces  between  the  worlds,  and  paid  no  attention  to  terres- 
trial things.  There  was  accordingly  no  reason  why  men 
should  dread  them.  In  the  same  way,  the  soul  having 
been  proved  to  be  subject  to  immediate  disintegration  on 
separating  from  the  body,  death  should  have  no  more  ter- 
rors. 

The  most  conspicuous  feature  of  the  book  is  the  poet's 
splendid  enthusiasm.  His  theme  does  not  at  first  sight 
seem  to  be  an  inspiring  one,  but  the  atomic  theory  came  to 
him  as  a  revelation,  and  the  realization  of  what  it  meant  for 
him  and  for  all  who  would  believe  filled  him  with  a  sort  of 
frenzy.  He  had  what  the  Greeks  called  /xavia,  possession, 
something  stronger  than  inspiration  as  ordinarily  used,  and 
this,  carrying  him  without  a  sign  of  weariness  through  long 
and  intricate  disquisitions  on  details  of  the  theory,  manifests 
itself  every  now  and  then  with  increased  intensity  in  some 
arraignment  of  religion  so-called,  or  some  fine  piece  of  de- 
scriptive writing,  or  a  glorification  of  Epicurus.  All  his 


LUCRETIUS  65 

references  to  the  master  show  a  rare  earnestness.  Epi- 
curus is  to  him  something  more  than  mortal,  —  something 
of  a  god.  He  it  was  who  first  pointed  out  the  way  of 
truth,  who  showed  a  light  in  the  darkness,  who  made  hap- 
piness possible  for  men.  The  ultra  sombre,  almost  morbid 
view  of  life  that  we  find  in  many  passages  of  the  poem  is 
in  part  due  to  the  same  impassioned  zeal  for  the  doctrines 
he  was  preaching ;  for  while  his  keen  sense  of  the  misery 
and  suffering  in  the  world  had  much  to  do  with  his  embrac- 
ing Epicureanism  in  the  first  place,  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  embraced  it  tended  to  make  him  exaggerate  the 
evils  which  he  was  combatting.  The  note  sounded  in  the 
second  book  (v.  578  seq.),  "  nor  did  night  ever  follow 
day,  or  morning  night,  that  heard  not,  mingling  with  the 
cries  of  sickly  infants,  wailings  the  attendants  on  death  and 
black  funeral "  recurs  again  and  again.  In  depicting  the 
different  phases  of  nature  he  stands  in  the  first  rank  among 
Roman  poets.  His  descriptions,  introduced  from  time  to 
time  to  relieve  the  tension  of  philosophic  argument,  are 
marked  by  an  accuracy,  a  truthfulness,  a  startling  vivid- 
ness, that  could  come  only  from  highly  trained  powers  of 
observation  ;  but  they  have  besides  the  charm  which  springs 
from  a  genuine  feeling  for  the  beauty  of  the  external  world. 
Nor  does  the  compression  which  so  many  of  them  show  de- 
tract at  all  from  their  effectiveness.  The  "  shells  that  paint 
the  lap  of  earth,  where  the  sea  with  gentle  waves  beats  on 
the  thirsty  sand  of  the  winding  shore,"  the  "  grey-green 
strip  of  olives  running  between  vineyards,"  —  such  descrip- 
tions as  these  linger  in  the  memory,  when  more  elaborate 
pictures  might  fail. 

On  the  side  of  language  Lucretius  was  hampered  by  the 
fact  that  Latin  had  not  in  his  time  developed  a  philosophi- 
cal vocabulary.  So  we  find  him  complaining  of  the  "  pov- 
erty of  the  Latin  language."  The  Latin  hexameter,  too, 
was  a  medium  which,  although  it  had  been  used  before  by 
Ennius,  had  not  as  yet  attained  to  any  very  great  degree 
of  flexibility. 


66  LUCRETIUS 

INVOCATION  TO  VENUS1 
(L,  1-43.) 

MOTHER  of  the  Aeneadae,a  darling  of  men  and 
gods,  increase-giving  Venus,  who  beneath  the  gliding 
signs  of  heaven  fillest  with  thy  presence  the  ship-car- 
rying sea,  the  corn-bearing  lands,  since  through  thee 
every  kind  of  living  things  is  conceived,  rises  up  and 
beholds  the  light  of  the  sun.  Before  thee,  goddess, 
flee  the  winds,  the  clouds  of  heaven ;  before  thee  and 
thy  advent ;  for  thee  earth  manifold  in  works  puts 
forth  sweet-smelling  flowers ;  for  thee  the  levels  of  the 
sea  do  laugh  and  heaven  propitiated  shines  with  out- 
spread light.  For  soon  as  the  vernal  aspect  of  day  is 
disclosed,  and  the  birth  favoring  breath  of  favonius 3 
unbarred  is  blowing  fresh,  first  the  fowls  of  the  air,  O 
lady,  shew  signs  of  thee  and  thy  entering  in,  throughly 
smitten  in  heart  by  thy  power.  Next  the  wild  herds 
bound  over  the  glad  pastures  and  swim  the  rapid 
rivers :  in  such  wise  each  made  prisoner  by  thy  charm 
follows  thee  with  desire,  whither  thou  goest  to  lead 
it  on.  Yes,  throughout  seas  and  mountains  and 
sweeping  rivers  and  leafy  homes  of  birds  and  grassy 
plains,  striking  fond  love  into  the  breasts  of  all  thou 
constrainest  them  each  after  its  kind  to  continue  their 
races  with  desire.  Since  thou  then  art  sole  mistress 
of  the  nature  of  things,  and  without  thee  nothing  rises 
up  into  the  divine  borders  of  light,  nothing  grows  to 
be  glad  or  lovely,  I  would  have  thee  for  a  helpmate  in 
writing  the  verses  which  I  essay  to  pen  on  the  nature 

1  Venus  is  invoked  as  the  procreative  power  in  nature. 
3  The  Romans.     According  to  legend  Aeneas,  son  of  Venus,  was 
the  founder  of  the  Roman  race. 
8  The  west  wind. 


THE  SACRIFICE  OF  IPHIGENIA  67 

of  things  for  our  own  son  of  the  Memmii,1  whom 
tliou,  goddess,  hast  willed  to  have  no  peer,  rich  as  he 
ever  is  in  every  grace.  Wherefore  all  the  more,  O  lady, 
lend  my  lays  an  ever  living  charm.  Cause  meanwhile 
the  savage  works  of  war  to  be  lulled  to  rest  through- 
out all  seas  and  lands ;  for  thou  alone  canst  bless 
mankind  with  calm  peace,  seeing  that  Mavors 2  lord  of 
battle  controls  the  savage  works  of  war,  Mavors  who 
often  flings  himself  into  thy  lap  quite  vanquished  by 
the  never-healing  wound  of  love  ;  and  then  with  up- 
turned face  and  shapely  neck  thrown  back  feeds  with 
love  his  greedy  sight  gazing,  goddess,  open-mouthed 
on  thee;  and  as  backward  he  reclines,  his  breath 
stays  hanging  on  thy  lips.  While  then,  lady,  he  is 
reposing  on  thy  holy  body,  shed  thyself  about  him 
and  above,  and  pour  from  thy  lips  sweet  discourse, 
asking,  glorious  dame,  gentle  peace  for  the  Romans. 
For  neither  can  we  in  our  country's  day  of  trouble 
with  untroubled  mind  think  only  of  our  work,  nor  can 
the  illustrious  offset  of  Memmius  in  times  like  these 
be  wanting  to  the  general  weal. 

H.  A.  J.  MUNBO. 

THE  SACRIFICE  OF  IPHIGENIA.8 
(I.,  62-101.) 

PROSTRATE  lay  human  life  beneath  the  spell 
Of  dark  Religion  lowering  from  the  skies  ; 

1  The  poem  was  dedicated  to  Gains  Memmius.  2  Mars. 

8  Iphigenia  was  the  daughter  of  Agamemnon,  the  leader  of  the 
Greeks  in  their  expedition  against  Troy.  Her  sacrifice  was  intended  to 
appease  Diana,  to  whose  anger  the  contrary  winds,  which  delayed 
the  fleet  at  Aulis,  were  attributed.  The  preparations  were  made 
ostensibly  for  her  marriage  with  Achilles,  and  it  was  only  at  the  last 
moment  that  she  realized  the  situation. 


68  LUCRETIUS 

Nor  was  one  found  to  break  that  thraldom  fell 

Until  a  man  of  Greece  dared  lift  his  eyes,  « 

One  whom  no  vengeful  thunderbolts  could  quell 
Nor  wrath  of  gods.     But  on  his  high  emprise, 

Chafed  to  sublimer  daring  and  intent, 

To  burst  through  Nature's  portals  forth  he  went. 

Thus  his  undaunted  spirit  for  mankind  70 

O'er  Superstition's  power  the  victory  won  ; 

Past  the  world's  flaming  walls  his  venturous  mind 
Through  the  unmeasured  universe  pressed  on  ; 

Thence  brought  us  word  how  Being  is  defined 

By  bounds  fast  set  which  nothing  may  o'er-run.     75 

So  trampled  under  foot  Religion  lies 

While  Science  soars  victorious  to  the  skies. 

Nor  deem  it  sin  by  Reason  to  be  freed, 

Or  think  I  lead  thee  an  unholy  way ; 
Rather  to  many  a  dark  and  bloody  deed  *< 

Religion  hurries  those  who  own  her  sway. 
Was  not  Iphigenia  doomed  to  bleed 

By  the  Greek  chiefs,  though  first  of  men  were 

they, 
Staining  the  altar  of  the  Trivian  Maid 

At  Aulis  where  the  fleet  by  winds  was  stayed  ?       « 

Lo  !  on  her  tresses  fair  for  bridal  tire 

The  sacrificial  fillet  they  have  bound  ; 
Beside  the  altar  weeping  stands  her  sire : 

In  all  the  crowd  no  tearless  eye  is  found. 
The  priests  make  ready  for  their  office  dire,  sc 

Yet  pitying  hide  the  knife.     When  gazing  round 
The  Maiden  sees  her  doom,  her  spirit  dies, 
Her  limbs  sink  down,  speechless  on  earth  she  lies. 


ATOMS  AND   VOID  69 

The  firstborn  of  his  children  she  in  vain 

Had  brought  the  name  of  father  to  the  king.       95 

In  arms  upborne  she  goes,  not  by  a  train 
Of  youths  that  the  loud  hymeneal  sing 

Around  a  happy  bride  in  joyous  strain 
Bearing  her  home,  but  a  sad  offering, 

There  to  be  slain  by  him  who  gave  her  birth.        wo 

Such  evil  hath  Religion  wrought  on  earth. 

GOLDWIN  SMITH. 

ATOMS  AND  VOID 

(I.,  503-550.) 

FIRST  of  all  then,  since  there  has  been  found  to 
exist  a  two-fold  and  widely  dissimilar  nature  of  two 
things,  that  is  to  say  of  body  and  of  place  in  which 
things  severally  go  on,  each  of  the  two  must  exist  for 
and  by  itself  and  quite  unmixed.  For  wherever  there 
is  empty  space  which  we  call  void,  there  body  is  not ; 
wherever  again  body  maintains  itself,  there  empty 
void  nowise  exists.  First  bodies 1  therefore  are  solid 
and  without  void.  Again  since  there  is  void  in  things 
begotten,  solid  matter  must  exist  about  this  void,  and 
no  thing  can  be  proved  by  true  reason  to  conceal  in 
its  body  and  have  within  it  void,  unless  you  choose  to 
allow  that  that  which  holds  it  in  is  solid.  Again  that 
can  be  nothing  but  a  union  of  matter  which  can  keep 
in  the  void  of  things.  Matter  therefore,  which  consists 
of  a  solid  body,  may  be  everlasting,  though  all  things 
else  are  dissolved.  Moreover  if  there  were  no  empty 
void,  the  universe  would  be  solid ;  unless  on  the  other 
hand  there  were  certain  bodies  to  fill  up  whatever 
places  they  occupied,  the  existing  universe  would  be 

1  The  atoms. 


70  LUCRETIUS 

empty  and  void  space.  Therefore  sure  enough  body 
and  void  are  marked  off  in  alternate  layers,  since  the 
universe  is  neither  of  a  perfect  fulness  nor  a  perfect 
void.  There  are,  therefore  certain  bodies  which  can 
vary  void  space  with  full.  These  can  neither  be 
broken  in  pieces  by  the  stroke  of  blows  from  without, 
nor  have  their  texture  undone  by  aught  piercing  to 
their  core  nor  give  way  before  any  other  kind  of 
assault ;  as  we  have  proved  to  you  a  little  before. 
For  without  void  nothing  seems  to  admit  of  being 
crushed  in  or  broken  up  or  split  in  two  by  cutting,  or 
of  taking  in  wet  or  permeating  cold  or  penetrating 
fire,  by  which  all  things  are  destroyed.  And  the 
more  anything  contains  within  it  of  void,  the  more 
thoroughly  it  gives  way  to  the  assault  of  these  things. 
Therefore  if  first  bodies  are  as  I  have  shown  solid  and 
without  void,  they  must  be  everlasting.  Again  unless 
matter  had  been  eternal,  all  things  before  this  would 
have  utterly  returned  to  nothing  and  whatever  things 
we  see  would  have  been  born  anew  from  nothing.  But 
since  I  have  proved  above  that  nothing  can  be  produced 
from  nothing,  and  that  what  is  begotten  cannot  be 
recalled  to  nothing,  first  beginnings  must  be  of  an  im- 
perishable body,  into  which  all  things  can  be  dissolved 
at  their  last  hour,  that  there  may  be  a  supply  of  mat- 
ter for  the  reproduction  of  things.  Therefore  first- 
beginnings  are  of  solid  singleness,  and  in  no  other  way 
can  they  have  been  preserved  through  ages  during 
infinite  time  past  in  order  to  reproduce  things. 

H.  A.  J.  MUNBO. 


THE  GOSPEL  ACCORDING  TO  EPICURUS     71 
THE  GOSPEL  ACCORDING  TO  EPICURUS1 

(II,  1  seq.) 
I. 

WHEN  storms  blow  loud,  't  is  sweet  to  watch  at  ease 
From  shore,  the  sailor  laboring  with  the  seas : 

Because  the  sense,  not  that  such  pains  are  his, 
But  that  they  are  not  ours,  must  always  please. 

n. 

Sweet  for  the  cragsman,  from  some  high  retreat 
Watching  the  plains  below  where  legions  meet, 

To  wait  the  moment  when  the  walls  of  war 
Thunder  and  clash  together.     But  more  sweet, 

in. 

Sweeter  by  far  on  Wisdom's  rampired  height 
To  pace  serene  the  porches  of  the  light, 

And  thence  look  down  —  down  on  the  purblind  herd 
Seeking  and  never  finding  in  the  night 

IV. 

The  road  to  peace  —  the  peace  that  all  might  hold, 
But  yet  is  missed  by  young  men  and  by  old, 
Lost  in  the  strife  for  palaces  and  powers, 
The  axes,  and  the  lictors,  and  the  gold. 

v. 

Oh  sightless  eyes  !     Oh  hands  that  toil  in  vain ! 
Not  such  your  needs.     Your  nature's  needs  are  twain, 

1  This  selection  bears  on  the  principal  aim  of  Epicurean  ethics,  — 
to  teach  men  how  best  to  live  in  peace  and  tranquillity.  The  version 
is  taken  from  Mr.  Mullock's  Lucretius  on  Life  and  Death,  in  the  metre 
of  Omar  Khayydm. 


72  LUCRETIUS 

And  only  twain  :  and  these  are  to  be  free  — 
Your  minds  from  terror,  and  your  bones  from  pain. 

VI. 

Unailing  limbs,  a  calm  unanxious  breast  — 
Grant  Nature  these,  and  she  will  do  the  rest. 
Nature  will  bring  you,  be  you  rich  or  poor, 
Perhaps  not  much  —  at  all  events  her  best. 

vn. 

What  though  no  statued  youths  from  wall  and  wall 
Strew  light  along  your  midnight  festival, 

With  golden  hands,  nor  beams  from  Lebanon 
Keep  the  lyre's  languor  lingering  through  the  hall, 

VIII. 

Yours  is  the  table  'neath  the  high-whispering  trees  ; 
Yours  is  the  lyre  of  leaf  and  stream  and  breeze, 

The  golden  flagon,  and  the  echoing  dome  — 
Lapped  in  the  Spring,  what  care  you  then  for  these  ? 

IX. 

Sleep  is  no  sweeter  on  the  ivory  bed 
Than  yours  on  moss ;  and  fever's  shafts  are  sped 
As   clean   through  silks   damasked   for  dreaming 

kings, 
As  through  the  hood  that  wraps  the  poor  man's  head. 

x. 

What  then,  if  all  the  prince's  glittering  store 
Yields  to  his  body  not  one  sense  the  more, 

Nor  any  ache  or  fever  of  them  all 
Is  barred  out  by  bronze  gates  or  janitor  — 


THE  GOSPEL  ACCORDING   TO  EPICURUS     73 

XI. 

What  shall  the  palace,  what  the  proud  domain 
Do  for  the  mind  —  vain  splendors  of  the  vain  ? 
How  shall  these  minister  to  a  mind  diseased, 
Or  raze  one  written  trouble  from  the  brain  ? 

XII. 

Unless  you  think  that  conscience,  with  its  stings 
And  misery,  fears  the  outward  pomp  of  things  — 

Fears  to  push  swords  and  sentinels  aside, 
And  sit  the  assessor  of  the  king  of  kings. 

XIII. 

The  mind !    Ay  —  there  's  the  rub.    The  root  is  there 
Of  that  one  malady  which  all  men  share. 

It  gleams  between  the  haggard  lids  of  joy  ; 
It  burns  a  canker  in  the  heart  of  care. 

XIV. 

Within  the  gold  bowl,  when  the  feast  is  set, 
It  lurks.     'T  is  bitter  in  the  laborer's  sweat. 

Feed  thou  the  starving,  and  thou  bring'st  it  back  — 
Back  to  the  Starving,  who  alone  forget. 

xv. 

Oh  you  who  under  silken  curtains  lie, 
And  you  whose  only  roof-tree  is  the  sky, 

What  is  the  curse  that  blights  your  lives  alike  ? 
Not  that  you  hate  to  live,  but  fear  to  die. 

XVI. 

Fear  is  the  poison.     Wheresoe'er  you  go, 
Out  of  the  skies  above,  the  clouds  below, 


74  LUCRETIUS 

The  sense  thrills  through  you  of  some  pitiless  Power 
Who  scowls  at  once  your  father  and  your  foe ; 

XVII. 

Who  lets  his  children  wander  at  their  whim, 
Choosing  their  road,  as  though  not  bound  by  him : 

But  all  their  life  is  rounded  with  a  shade, 
And  every  road  goes  down  behind  the  rim ! 

xvm. 

And  there  behind  the  rim,  the  swift,  the  lame, 
At  different  paces,  but  their  end  the  same, 
Into  the  dark  shall  one  by  one  go  down, 
Where  the  great  furnace  shakes  its  hair  of  flame. 

XIX. 

Oh  ye  who  cringe  and  cower  before  the  throne 
Of  him  whose  heart  is  fire,  whose  hands  are  stone, 
Who  shall  deliver  you  from  this  death  in  life  — 
Strike  off  your  chains,  and  make   your   souls  your 
own? 

W.  H.  MALLOCK. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  WORLD 
(m.,  1-80.) 

THEE,1  who  first  wast  able  amid  such  thick  dark- 
ness to  raise  on  high  so  bright  a  beacon  and  shed 
a  light  on  the  true  interests  of  life,  thee  I  follow, 
glory  of  the  Greek  race,  and  plant  now  my  footsteps 
firmly  fixed  in  thy  imprinted  marks,  not  so  much  from 
a  desire  to  rival  thee  as  that  from  the  love  I  bear  thee 
I  yearn  to  imitate  thee ;  for  why  need  the  swallow 
1  Epicurus. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE    WORLD  75 

contend  with  swans,  or  what  likeness  is  there  between 
the  feats  of  racing  performed  by  kids  with  tottering 
limbs  and  by  the  powerful  strength  of  the  horse? 
Thou,  father,  art  discoverer  of  things,  thou  furnishest 
us  with  fatherly  precepts,  and  like  as  bees  sip  of  all 
things  in  the  flowery  lawns,  we,  O  glorious  being,  in 
like  manner  feed  from  out  thy  pages  upon  all  the 
golden  maxims,  golden  I  say,  most  worthy  ever  of  end- 
less life.  For  soon  as  thy  philosophy  issuing  from  a 
godlike  intellect  has  begun  with  loud  voice  to  pro- 
claim the  nature  of  things,  the  terrors  of  the  mind  are 
dispelled,  the  walls  of  the  world  part  asunder,  I  see 
things  in  operation  throughout  the  whole  void  ;  the 
divinity  of  the  gods1  is  revealed  and  their  tranquil 
abodes  which  neither  winds  do  shake  nor  clouds 
drench  with  rains,  nor  snow  congealed  by  sharp  frosts 
harms  with  hoary  fall :  an  ever  cloudless  ether  o'er- 
canopies  them,  and  they  laugh  with  light  shed  largely 
round.  Nature  too  supplies  all  their  wants  and  no- 
thing ever  impairs  their  peace  of  mind.  But  on  the 
other  hand  the  Acherusian  quarters 2  are  nowhere  to 

be  seen. 

H.  A.  J.  MUNRO. 

1  The  well-known  description  of  the   gods  of  the  Epicureans  in 
Tennyson's  Lucretius  is  a  reminiscence  of  this  passage,  which  in  its 
turn  goes  back  to  some  lines  in  the  Odyssey  of  Homer. 

2  No  abiding  place  of  the  dead  is  discerned  by  the  poet  in  the  plan 
of  the  universe  revealed  to  him.     As  an  argument  in  favor  of  the 
mortality  of  the  soul,  this  is  hardly  cogent. 


76  LUCRETIUS 

THE  FEAR  OF  DEATH  l 
(in.,  894  sej.) 

*'  No  more  shall  look  upon  thy  face 
Sweet  spouse,  no  more  with  emulous  race 
Sweet  children  court  their  sire's  embrace.2 

"  To  their  soft  touch  right  soon  no  more 
Thy  pulse  shall  thrill ;  e'en  now  is  o'er  s 

Thy  stewardship,  Death  is  at  the  door. 

"  One  dark  day  wresteth  every  prize 
From  hapless  man  in  hapless  wise, 
Yea,  e'en  the  pleasure  of  his  eyes.  " 

Thus  men  bewail  their  piteous  lot ;  w 

Yet  should  they  add,  "  'T  is  all  forgot, 
These  things  the  dead  man  recketh  not." 

Yea,  could  they  knit  for  them  this  chain 

Of  words  and  reasons,  men  might  gain 

Some  dull  narcotic  for  their  pain,  r> 

Saying,  "  The  dead  are  dead  indeed ; 
The  dead,  from  all  heart-sickness  freed, 
Sleep  and  shall  sleep  and  take  no  heed." 

Lo,  if  dumb  Nature  found  a  voice, 

Would  she  bemoan,  and  not  make  choice  20 

To  bid  poor  mortals  to  rejoice, 

1  The  use  of  the  metre  of  Tennyson's  Two  Voices  was  suggested  to 
Mr.  Tyrrell  by  the  similarity  of  theme.  See  his  Latin  Poetry,  p.  72. 
The  first  three  stanzas  are  put  into  the  mouth  of  some  friend  of  the 
deceased,  while  the  rest  of  the  selection  gives  the  Epicurean  view. 

9  Comparison  with  Gray's  Elegy  is  inevitable. 


THE  HONEY  OF  THE  MUSES  11 

Saying,  "  Why  weep  thy  wane,  O  man  ? 
Wert  joyous  e'en  when  life  began, 
When  thy  youth's  sprightly  freshets  ran  ? 

"  Nay,  all  the  joys  thy  life  e'er  knew  25 

•      As  poured  into  a  sieve  fell  through, 
And  left  thee  but  to  rail  and  rue." 

Go,  fool,  as  doth  a  well-filled  guest 
Sated  of  life  :  with  tranquil  breast 
Take  thine  inheritance  of  rest.  so 

Why  seekest  joys  that  soon  must  pale 
Their  feeble  fires,  and  swell  the  tale 
Of  things  of  nought  and  no  avail  ? 

Die,  sleep !     For  all  things  are  the  same ; 

Tho'  spring  now  stir  thy  crescent  frame,  35 

'T  will  wither  :  all  things  are  the  same. 

R.  Y.  TYBHELL. 

THE  HONEY  OF  THE  MUSES 
(IV.,  1-25.) 

I  TRAVERSE  the  pathless  haunts  of  the  Pierides1 
never  yet  trodden  by  sole  of  man.  I  love  to  approach 
the  untasted  springs  and  to  quaff,  I  love  to  cull  fresh 
flowers  and  gather  for  my  head  a  distinguished  crown 
from  spots  whence  the  muses  have  yet  veiled  the  brows 
of  none ;  first  because  I  teach  of  great  things  and  essay 
to  release  the  mind  from  the  fast  bonds  of  religious 
scruples,  and  next  because  on  a  dark  subject  I  pen 
such  lucid  verses  o'erlaying  all  with  the  muses'  charm. 

1  The  muses. 


78  LUCRETIUS 

For  that  too  would  seem  to  be  not  without  good 
grounds :  even  as  physicians  when  they  propose  to 
give  nauseous  wormwood  to  children,  first  smear  the 
rim  round  the  bowl  with  the  sweet  yellow  juice  of 
honey,  that  the  unthinking  age  of  children  may  be 
fooled  as  far  as  the  lips,  and  meanwhile  drink  up  the 
bitter  draught  of  wormwood  and  though  beguiled  yet 
not  betrayed,  but  rather  by  such  means  recover  health 
and  strength  :  so  I  now,  since  this  doctrine  seems  gen- 
erally somewhat  bitter  to  those  by  whom  it  has  not 
been  handled,  and  the  multitude  shrinks  back  from  it 
in  dismay,  have  resolved  to  set  forth  to  you  our  doc- 
trine in  sweet-toned  Pierian  verse  and  o'erlay  it  as  it 
were  with  the  pleasant  honey  of  the  muses,  if  happily 
by  such  means  I  might  engage  your  mind  on  my 
verses,  till  such  time  as  you  apprehend  all  the  nature 
of  things  and  thoroughly  feel  what  use  it  has. 

H.  A.  J.  MUNBO. 

LOVE'S  EXTRAVAGANCE  l 
(IV.,  1121-1191.) 

THEN  too  they  2  waste  their  strength  and  ruin  them- 
selves  by  the  labor,  then  too  their  life  is  passed  at  the 
beck  of  another.  Meanwhile  their  estate  runs  away  and 
is  turned  into  Babylonian  coverlets ;  duties  are  neg- 
lected and  their  good  name  staggers  and  sickens.  On 
her  feet  laugh  elastic  and  beautiful  Sicyonian  3  shoes, 
yes,  and  large  emeralds  with  green  light  are  set  in  gold 
and  the  sea-colored  dress  is  worn  constantly  and  much 

1  Love  finds  a  place  in  Lucretins's  poem  as  one  of  the  phenomena 
connected  with  the  senses,  which  constitute  the  theme  of  the  fourth 
book.  2  He  lias  heen  speaking  of  lovers. 

8  From  Sicyon,  a  town  in  the  northeast  of  the  Peloponnesus. 


LOVE'S  EXTRAVAGANCE  79 

used  drinks  in  the  sweat.  The  noble  earnings  of  their 
fathers  are  turned  into  hairbands,  head-dresses  ;  some- 
times are  changed  into  a  sweeping  robe  and  Aliden- 
sian  and  Cean  dresses.1  Feasts  set  out  with  rich  cov- 
erlets and  viands,  games,  numerous  cups,  perfumes, 
crowns  and  garlands  are  prepared  ;  all  in  vain,  since 
out  of  the  very  well-spring  of  delights  rises  up  some- 
thing bitter,  to  pain  amid  the  very  flowers  ;  either 
when  the  conscience-stricken  mind  haply  gnaws  itself 
with  remorse  to  think  that  it  is  passing  a  life  of  sloth 
and  ruining  itself  in  brothels,  or  because  she  has 
launched  forth  some  word  and  left  its  meaning  in  doubt 
and  it  cleaves  to  the  love-sick  heart  and  burns  like 
living  fire,  or  because  it  fancies  she  casts  her  eyes  too 
freely  about  or  looks  on  another,  and  it  sees  in  her  face 
traces  of  a  smile. 

And  these  evils  are  found  in  love  that  is  lasting  and 
highly  prosperous ;  but  in  crossed  and  hopeless  love 
are  ills  such  as  you  may  seize  with  closed  eyes,  past 
numbering ;  so  that  it  is  better  to  watch  beforehand 
in  the  manner  I  have  prescribed,  and  be  on  your 
guard  not  to  be  drawn  in.  For  to  avoid  falling  into 
the  toils  of  love  is  not  so  hard  as,  after  you  are  caught, 
to  get  out  of  the  nets  you  are  in  and  to  break  through 
the  strong  meshes  of  Venus.  And  yet  even  when  you 
are  entangled  and  held  fast  you  may  escape  the  mis- 
chief, unless  you  stand  in  your  own  way  and  begin  by 
overlooking  all  the  defects  of  her  mind  or  those  of 
her  body,  whoever  it  is  whom  you  court  and  woo.  For 
this  men  usually  do,  blinded  by  passion,  and  attribute 
to  the  beloved  those  advantages  which  are  not  really 
theirs.  We  therefore  see  women  in  ways  manifold 

1  From  Alida.  in  the  southwest  of  Asia  Minor,  and  Ceos,  an  island 
in  the  Aegean  Sea. 


80  LUCRETIUS 

deformed  and  ugly  to  be  objects  of  endearment  and 
held  in  the  highest  admiration.  And  one  lover  jeers 
at  others  and  advises  them  to  propitiate  Venus,  since 
they  are  troubled  by  a  disgraceful  passion,  and  often, 
poor  wretch,  gives  no  thought  to  his  own  ills,  greatest 
of  all.  The  black  is  a  brune,  the  filthy  and  rank  has 
not  the  love  of  order ;  the  cat-eyed  is  a  miniature 
Pallas,  the  stringy  and  wizened  a  gazelle ;  the  dumpy 
and  dwarfish  is  one  of  the  graces,  from  top  to  toe  all 
grace ;  the  big  and  overgrown  is  awe-inspiring  and 
full  of  dignity.  She  is  tongue-tied,  cannot  speak,  then 
she  has  a  lisp ;  the  dumb  is  bashful ;  then  the  fire-spit, 
the  teasing,  the  gossiping,  turns  to  a  shining  lamp. 
One  becomes  a  slim  darling  then  when  she  cannot  live 
from  want  of  flesh  ;  and  she  is  only  spare,  who  is  half 
dead  with  cough.  Then  the  fat  and  big-breasted  is  a 
Ceres'  self  big-breasted  from  lacchus  ; 1  the  pug-nosed 
is  a  she  Silenus  and  a  satyress  ;  the  thick-lipped  a  very 
kiss.  It  were  tedious  to  attempt  to  report  other  things 
of  the  kind.  Let  her  however  be  of  ever  so  great 
dignity  of  appearance  ;  such  that  the  power  of  Venus 
goes  forth  from  all  her  limbs ;  yet  there  are  others 
too ;  yet  have  we  lived  without  her  before ;  yet  does 
she  do,  and  we  know  that  she  does,  in  all  things  the 
same  as  the  ugly  woman  ;  and  fumigates  herself,  poor 
wretch,  with  nauseous  perfumes,  her  very  maids  run- 
ning from  her  and  giggling  behind  her  back.  But  the 
lover,  when  shut  out,  often  in  tears  covers  the  thresh- 
old with  flowers  and  wreaths,  and  anoints  the  haughty 
doorposts  with  oil  of  marjoram  and  imprints  kisses, 
poor  wretch,  on  the  doors.  When,  however,  he  has 
been  admitted,  if  on  his  approach  but  one  single 
breath  should  come  in  his  way,  he  would  seek  specious 

1  Bacchus,  who  was,  according  to  one  account,  the  son  of  Ceres. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  81 

reasons  for  departing,  and  the  long-conned  deep-drawn 
complaint  would  fall  to  the  ground  ;  and  then  he  would 
blame  his  folly,  on  seeing  that  he  had  attributed  to  her 
more  than  it  is  right  to  concede  to  a  mortal.  Nor  is 
this  unknown  to  our  Venuses ;  wherefore  all  the  more 
they  themselves  hide  with  the  utmost  pains  all  that 
goes  on  behind  the  scenes  of  life  from  those  whom  they 
wish  to  retain  in  the  chains  of  love ;  biit  in  vain,  since 
you  may  yet  draw  forth  from  her  mind  into  the  light 
all  these  things  and  search  into  all  her  smiles ;  and  if 
she  is  of  a  fair  mind  and  not  troublesome,  overlook 
them  in  your  turn  and  make  allowance  for  human 

failings. 

H.  A.  J.  MUNBO. 

THE   DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN1 

(V.,  925-1457.) 

BUT  the  race  of  man  then  in  the  fields  was  much 
hardier,  as  beseemed  it  to  be,  since  the  hard  earth  had 
produced  it ;  and  built  on  a  groundwork  of  larger 
and  more  solid  bones  within,  knit  with  powerful  sin- 
ews throughout  the  frame  of  flesh  ;  not  lightly  to  be 
disabled  by  heat  or  cold  or  strange  kinds  of  food  or 
any  malady  of  body.  And  during  the  revolution  of 
many  lustres  of  the  sun  through  heaven  they  led  a  life 
after  the  roving  fashion  of  wild  beasts.  No  one  then 
was  a  sturdy  guider  of  the  bent  plough  or  knew  how 
to  labor  the  fields  with  iron  or  plant  in  the  ground 
young  saplings  or  lop  with  prun  ing-hooks  old  boughs 

1  The  importance  of  man's  place  in  the  nature  of  things  is  recog- 
nized by  this  long  section  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  book,  in  which  the 
development  of  the  race  is  traced  through  all  the  stages  from  primi- 
tive savagery  to  civilization  and  culture. 


82  LUCRETIUS 

from  the  high  trees.  What  the  sun  and  rains  had 
given,  what  the  earth  had  produced  spontaneously,  was 
guerdon  sufficient  to  content  their  hearts.  Among 
acorn-bearing  oaks  they  would  refresh  their  bodies  for 
the  most  part ;  and  the  arbute-berries  which  you  now 
see  in  the  winter-time  ripen  with  a  bright  scarlet 
hue,  the  earth  would  then  bear  in  greatest  plenty  and 
of  a  larger  size ;  and  many  coarse  kinds  of  food  be- 
sides the  teeming  freshness  of  the  world  then  bare, 
more  than  enough  for  poor  wretched  men.  But  rivers 
and  springs  invited  to  slake  thirst,  even  as  now  a  rush 
of  water  down  from  the  great  hills  summons  with  clear 
plash  far  and  wide  the  thirsty  races  of  wild  beasts. 
Then  too  as  they  ranged  about  they  would  occupy  the 
well-known  woodland  haunts  of  the  nymphs,  out  of 
which  they  knew  that  smooth-gliding  streams  of  water 
with  a  copious  gush  bathed  the  dripping  rocks,  tric- 
kling down  over  the  green  moss  ;  and  in  parts  welled 
and  bubbled  out  over  the  level  plain.  And  as  yet 
they  knew  not  how  to  apply  fire  to  their  purposes  or  to 
make  use  of  skins  and  clothe  their  body  in  the  spoils 
of  wild  beasts,  but  they  would  dwell  in  woods  and 
mountain-caves  and  forests  and  shelter  in  the  brush- 
wood their  squalid  limbs  when  driven  to  shun  the 
buffeting  of  the  winds  and  the  rains.  And  they  were 
unable  to  look  to  the  general  weal  and  knew  not  how 
to  make  a  common  use  of  any  customs  or  laws. 
Whatever  prize  fortune  threw  in  his  way,  each  man 
would  bear  off,  trained  at  his  own  discretion  to  think 
of  himself  and  live  for  himself  alone.  And  Venus 
would  join  the  bodies  of  lovers  in  the  woods ;  for  each 
woman  was  gained  over  either  by  mutual  desire,  or  the 
headstrong  violence  and  vehement  lust  of  the  man,  or 
a  bribe  of  some  acorns  and  arbute-berries  or  choice 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  83 

pears.  And  trusting  to  the  marvellous  powers  of  their 
hands  and  feet  they  would  pursue  the  forest-haunting 
races  of  wild  beasts  with  showers  of  stones  and  club  of 
ponderous  weight ;  and  many  they  would  conquer,  a  few 
they  would  avoid  in  hiding-places  ;  and  like  to  bristly 
swine  just  as  they  were  they  would  throw  their  savage 
limbs  all  naked  on  the  ground,  when  overtaken  by 
night,  covering  themselves  up  with  leaves  and  boughs. 
Yet  never  with  loud  wailings  would  they  call  for  the 
daylight  and  the  sun,  wandering  terror-stricken  over 
the  fields  in  the  shadows  of  night,  but  silent  and  bur- 
ied in  sleep  they  would  wait,  till  the  sun  with  rosy 
torch  carried  light  into  heaven ;  for  accustomed  as 
they  had  been  from  childhood  always  to  see  darkness 
and  light  begotten  time  about,  never  could  any  wonder 
come  over  them,  nor  any  misgiving  that  never-ending 
night  would  cover  the  earth  and  the  light  of  the  sun  be 
withdrawn  for  evermore.  But  what  gave  them  trouble 
was  rather  the  races  of  wild  beasts  which  would  often 
render  repose  fatal  to  the  poor  wretches.  And  driven 
from  their  home  they  would  fly  from  their  rocky  shel- 
ters on  the  approach  of  a  foaming  boar  or  a  strong 
lion,  and  in  the  dead  of  night  they  would  surrender  in 
terror  to  their  savage  guests  their  sleeping- places 
strawn  with  leaves. 

Nor  then  much  more  than  now  would  the  races  of 
mortal  men  leave  the  sweet  light  of  ebbing  life.  For 
then  this  one  or  that  other  one  of  them  would  be  more 
likely  to  be  seized,  and  torn  open  by  their  teeth  would 
furnish  to  the  wild  beasts  a  living  food,  and  would  fill 
with  his  moaning  woods  and  mountains  and  forests  as 
he  looked  on  his  living  flesh  buried  in  a  living  grave. 
But  those  whom  flight  had  saved  with  body  eaten  into, 
holding  ever  after  their  quivering  palms  over  the  noi- 


84  LUCRETIUS 

some  sores  would  summon  death  with  appalling  cries, 
until  cruel  gripings  had  rid  them  of  life,  forlorn  of 
help,  unwitting  what  wounds  wanted.  But  then  a  sin- 
gle day  gave  not  over  to  death  many  thousands  of  men 
marching  with  banners  spread,  nor  did  the  stormy 
waters  of  the  sea  dash  on  the  rocks  men  and  ships. 
At  this  time  the  sea  would  often  rise  up  and  rage 
without  aim,  without  purpose,  without  result,  and  just 
as  lightly  put  off  its  empty  threats  ;  nor  could  the  win- 
ning wiles  of  the  calm  sea  treacherously  entice  any 
one  to  his  ruin  with  laughing  waters,  when  the  reck- 
less craft  of  the  skipper  had  not  yet  risen  into  the 
light.  Then  too  want  of  food  would  consign  to  death 
their  fainting  frames,  now  on  the  contrary  't  is  plenty 
sinks  into  ruin.  They  unwittingly  would  often  pour 
out  poison  for  themselves  ;  now  with  nicer  skill  men 
give  it  to  their  son's  wife  instead. 

Next  after  they  had  got  themselves  huts  and  skins 
and  fire,  and  the  woman  united  with  the  man  passed 
with  him  into  one  domicile  and  the  duties  of  wedlock 
were  learnt  by  the  two,  and  they  saw  an  offspring 
born  from  them,  then  first  mankind  began  to  soften. 
For  fire  made  their  chilled  bodies  less  able  now  to 
bear  the  frost  beneath  the  canopy  of  heaven,  and  Venus 
impaired  their  strength  and  children  with  their  ca- 
resses soon  broke  down  the  haughty  temper  of  parents. 
Then  too  neighbors  began  to  join  in  a  league  of  friend- 
ship, mutually  desiring  neither  to  do  nor  suffer  harm  ; 
and  asked  for  indulgence  to  children  and  womankind, 
when  with  cries  and  gestures  they  declared  in  stam- 
mering speech  that  meet  it  is  for  all  to  have  mercy  on 
the  weak.  And  though  harmony  could  not  be  estab- 
lished without  exception,  yet  a  very  large  portion  ob- 
served their  agreements  with  good  faith,  or  else  the  race 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  85 

of  man  would  then  have  been  wholly  cut  off,  nor  could 
breeding  have  continued  their  generations  to  this  day. 
But  nature  impelled  them  to  utter  the  various 
sounds  of  the  tongue  and  use  struck  out  the  names  of 
things,  much  in  the  same  way  as  the  inability  to  speak 
is  seen  in  its  turn  to  drive  children  to  the  use  of  ges- 
tures, when  it  forces  them  to  point  with  the  finger  at 
the  things  which  are  before  them.  For  every  one 
feels  how  far  he  can  make  use  of  his  peculiar  powers. 
Ere  the  horns  of  a  calf  are  formed  and  project  from 
his  forehead,  he  butts  with  it  when  angry  and  pushes 
out  in  his  rage.  Then  whelps  of  panthers  and  cubs  of 
lions  fight  with  claws  and  feet  and  teeth  at  a  time 
when  teeth  and  claws  are  hardly  yet  formed.  Again 
we  see  every  kind  of  fowl  trust  to  wings  and  seek 
from  pinions  a  fluttering  succor.  Therefore  to  sup- 
pose that  some  one  man  at  that  time  apportioned 
names  to  things,  and  that  men  from  him  learnt  their 
first  words,  is  sheer  folly.  For  why  should  this 
particular  man  be  able  to  denote  all  things  by 
words  and  to  utter  the  various  sounds  of  the  tongue, 
and  yet  at  the  same  time  others  be  supposed  not  to 
have  been  able  to  do  so  ?  Again  if  others  as  well  as 
he  had  not  made  use  of  words  among  themselves, 
whence  was  implanted  in  this  man  the  previous  con- 
ception of  its  use,  and  whence  was  given  to  him  the 
original  faculty,  to  know  and  perceive  in  mind  what 
he  wanted  to  do?  Again  one  man  could  not  con- 
strain and  subdue  and  force  many  to  choose  to  learn 
the  names  of  things.  It  is  no  easy  thing  in  any 
way  to  teach  and  convince  the  deaf  of  what  is  need- 
ful to  be  done  ;  for  they  never  would  suffer  nor  in 
any  way  endure  sounds  of  voice  hitherto  unheard  to 
continue  to  be  dinned  fruitlessly  into  their  ears. 


86  LUCRETIUS 

Lastly  what  is  there  so  passing  strange  in  this  cir- 
cumstance, that  the  race  of  men  whose  voice  and 
tongue  were  in  full  force,  should  denote  things  by  dif- 
ferent words  as  different  feelings  prompted  ?  since 
dumb  brutes,  yes,  and  the  races  of  wild  beasts  are 
accustomed  to  give  forth  distinct  and  varied  sounds, 
when  they  have  fear  or  pain  and  when  joys  are  rife. 
This  you  may  learn  from  facts  plain  to  sense :  when 
the  large  spongy  open  lips  of  Molossian l  dogs  begin  to 
growl  enraged  and  bare  their  hard  teeth,  thus  drawn 
back  in  rage  they  threaten  in  a  tone  far  different  from 
that  in  which  they  bark  outright  and  fill  with  sounds 
all  the  places  around.  Again  when  they  essay  fondly 
to  lick  their  whelps  with  their  tongue  or  when  they 
toss  them  with  their  feet  and  snapping  at  them  make 
a  feint  with  lightly  closing  teeth  of  swallowing  though 
with  gentle  forbearance,  they  caress  them  with  a  yelp- 
ing sound  of  a  sort  greatly  differing  from  that  which 
they  utter  when  left  alone  in  a  house  they  bay,  or 
when  they  slink  away  howling  from  blows  with  a 
crouching  body.  Again  is  not  the  neigh,  too,  seen  to 
differ,  when  a  young  stallion  in  the  flower  of  age  rages 
among  the  mares  smitten  by  the  goads  of  winged  love, 
and  when  with  wide-stretched  nostrils  he  snorts  out  the 
signal  to  arms,  and  when  as  it  chances  on  any  other 
occasion  he  neighs  with  limbs  all  shaking  ?  Lastly 
the  race  of  fowls  and  various  birds,  hawks  and  os- 
prays  and  gulls  seeking  their  living  in  the  salt  water 
mid  the  waves  of  the  sea,  utter  at  a  different  time 
noises  widely  different  from  those  they  make  when 
they  are  fighting  for  food  and  struggling  with  their 
prey.  And  some  of  them  change  together  with  the 

1  The  Molossi  were  a  people  of  Epirus,  in  the  northwest  of  Greece. 
Molossian  hounds  were  famous  in  antiquity. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  87 

weather  their  harsh  croakings,  as  the  long-lived  races 
of  crows  and  flocks  of  rooks  when  they  are  said  to  be 
calling  for  water  and  rain  and  sometimes  to  be  sum- 
moning winds  and  gales.  Therefore  if  different  sen- 
sations compel  creatures,  dumb  though  they  be,  to 
utter  different  sounds,  how  much  more  natural  it  is 
that  mortal  men  in  those  times  should  have  been  able 
to  denote  dissimilar  things  by  many  different  words ! 

And  lest  haply  on  this  head  you  ask  in  silent 
thought  this  question,  it  was  lightning  that  brought 
fire  down  on  earth  for  mortals  in  the  beginning ; 
thence  the  whole  heat  of  flames  is  spread  abroad. 
Thus  we  see  many  things  shine  dyed  in  heavenly 
flames,  when  the  stroke  from  heaven  has  stored  them 
with  its  heat.  Ay  and  without  this  when  a  branch- 
ing tree  sways  to  and  fro  and  tosses  about  under  the 
buffeting  of  the  winds,  pressing  against  the  boughs  of 
another  tree,  fire  is  forced  out  by  the  power  of  the  vio- 
lent friction,  and  sometimes  the  burning  heat  of  flame 
flashes  out,  the  boughs  and  stems  rubbing  against 
each  other.  Now  either  of  these  accidents  may  have 
given  fire  to  men.  Next  the  sun  taught  them  to  cook 
food  and  soften  it  with  the  heat  of  flame,  since  they 
would  see  many  things  grow  mellow,  when  subdued  by 
the  strokes  of  the  rays  and  by  heat  throughout  the 
land. 

And  more  and  more  every  day  men  who  excelled  in 
intellect  and  were  of  vigorous  understanding,  would 
kindly  shew  them  how  to  exchange  their  former  way 
of  living  for  new  methods.  Kings  began  to  build 
towns  and  lay  out  a  citadel  as  a  place  of  strength  and 
of  refuge  for  themselves,  and  divided  cattle  and  lands 
and  gave  to  each  man  in  proportion  to  his  personal 
beauty  and  strength  and  intellect ;  for  beauty  and  vig- 


88  LUCRETIUS 

orous  strength  were  much  esteemed.  Afterwards 
wealth  was  discovered  and  gold  found  out,  which  soon 
robbed  of  their  honors  strong  and  beautiful  alike  ;  for 
men  however  valiant  and  beautiful  of  person  gener- 
ally follow  in  the  train  of  the  richer  man.  But  were 
a  man  to  order  his  life  by  the  rules  of  true  reason,  a 
frugal  subsistence  joined  to  a  contented  mind  is  for 
him  great  riches ;  for  never  is  there  any  lack  of  a  lit- 
tle. But  men  desired  to  be  famous  and  powerful,  in 
order  that  their  fortunes  might  rest  on  a  firm  founda- 
tion and  they  might  be  able  by  their  wealth  to  lead  a 
tranquil  life  ;  but  in  vain,  since  in  their  struggle  to 
mount  up  to  the  highest  dignities  they  rendered  their 
path  one  full  of  danger  ;  and  even  if  they  reach  it,  yet 
envy  like  a  thunderbolt  sometimes  strikes  and  dashes 
men  down  from  the  highest  point  with  ignominy  into 
noisome  Tartarus ;  since  the  highest  summits  and 
those  elevated  above  the  level  of  other  things  are 
mostly  blasted  by  envy  as  by  a  thunderbolt ;  so  that 
far  better  it  is  to  obey  in  peace  and  quiet  than  to 
wish  to  rule  with  power  supreme  and  be  the  master  of 
kingdoms.  Therefore  let  men  wear  themselves  out  to 
no  purpose  and  sweat  drops  of  blood,  as  they  struggle 
on  along  the  straight  road  of  ambition,  since  they 
gather  their  knowledge  from  the  mouths  of  others 
and  follow  after  things  from  hearsay  rather  than  the 
dictates  of  their  own  feelings ;  and  this  prevails  not 
now  nor  will  prevail  by  and  by  any  more  than  it  has 
prevailed  before. 

Kings  therefore  being  slain  the  old  majesty  of 
thrones  and  proud  sceptres  were  overthrown  and  laid 
in  the  dust,  and  the  glorious  badge  of  the  sovereign 
head  bloodstained  beneath  the  feet  of  the  rabble 
mourned  for  its  high  prerogative ;  for  that  is  greedily 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  89 

trampled  on  which  before  was  too  much  dreaded.  It 
would  come  then  in  the  end  to  the  lees  of  uttermost 
disorder,  each  man  seeking  for  himself  empire  and 
sovereignty.  Next  a  portion  of  them  taught  men  to 
elect  legal  officers,  and  drew  up  codes,  to  induce  men 
to  obey  the  laws.  For  mankind,  tired  out  with  a 
life  of  brute  force,  lay  exhausted  from  its  feuds  ;  and 
therefore  the  more  readily  it  submitted  of  its  own 
free  will  to  laws  and  stringent  codes.  For  as  each  one 
moved  by  anger  took  measures  to  avenge  himself  with 
more  severity  than  is  now  permitted  by  equitable  laws, 
for  this  reason  men  grew  sick  of  a  life  of  brute  force. 
Thence  fear  of  punishment  mars  the  prizes  of  life ; 
for  violence  and  wrong  enclose  all  who  commit  them 
in  their  meshes  and  do  mostly  recoil  on  him  whom 
they  began  ;  and  it  is  not  easy  for  him  who  by  his 
deeds  transgresses  the  terms  of  the  public  peace  to 
pass  a  tranquil  and  a  peaceful  existence.  For  though 
he  eludes  God  and  man,  yet  he  cannot  but  feel  a  mis- 
giving that  his  secret  can  be  kept  for  ever;  seeing 
that  many  by  speaking  in  their  dreams  or  in  the  wan- 
derings of  disease  have  often  we  are  told  betrayed 
themselves  and  have  disclosed  their  hidden  deeds  of 
evil  and  their  sins. 

And  now  what  cause  has  spread  over  great  nations 
the  worship  of  the  divinities  of  the  gods  and  filled 
towns  with  altars  and  led  to  the  performance  of  stated 
sacred  rites,  rites  now  in  fashion  on  solemn  occasions 
and  in  solemn  places,  from  which  even  now  is  im- 
planted in  mortals  a  shuddering  awe  which  raises  new 
temples  of  the  gods  over  the  whole  earth  and  prompts 
men  to  crowd  them  on  festive  days,  all  this  it  is  not  so 
difficult  to  explain  in  words.  Even  then  in  sooth  the 
races  of  mortal  men  would  see  in  waking  mind  glori- 


90  LUCRETIUS 

ous  forms,  would  see  them  in  sleep  of  yet  more  mar- 
vellous size  of  body.  To  these  then  they  would 
attribute  sense,  because  they  seemed  to  move  their 
limbs  and  to  utter  lofty  words  suitable  to  their  glori- 
ous aspect  and  surpassing  powers.  And  they  would 
give  them  life  everlasting,  because  their  face  would 
appear  before  them  and  their  form  abide  ;  yes,  and 
yet  without  all  this  because  they  would  not  believe 
that  beings  possessed  of  such  powers  could  lightly 
be  overcome  by  any  force.  And  they  would  believe 
them  to  be  preeminent  in  bliss,  because  none  of 
them  was  ever  troubled  with  the  fear  of  death,  and 
because  at  the  same  time  in  sleep  they  would  see  them 
perform  many  miracles,  yet  feel  on  their  part  no 
fatigue  from  the  effort.  Again  they  would  see  the 
system  of  heaven  and  the  different  seasons  of  the 
years  come  round  in  regular  succession,  and  could  not 
find  out  by  what  cause  this  was  done  ;  therefore  they 
would  seek  a  refuge  in  handing  over  all  things  to  the 
gods  and  supposing  all  things  to  be  guided  by  their 
nod.  And  they  placed  in  heaven  the  abodes  and 
realms  of  the  gods,  because  night  and  moon  are  seen  to 
roll  through  heaven,  moon,  day  and  night,  and  night's 
austere  constellations  and  night-wandering  meteors  of 
the  sky  and  flying  bodies  of  flame,  clouds,  sun,  rains, 
snow,  winds,  lightnings,  hail,  and  rapid  rumblings  and 
loud  threatful  thunderclaps. 

O  hapless  race  of  men,  when  that  they  charged  the 
gods  with  such  acts  and  coupled  with  them  bitter 
wrath !  what  groanings  did  they  then  beget  for  them- 
selves, what  wounds  for  us,  what  tears  for  our  chil- 
dren's children  !  No  act  is  it  of  piety  to  be  often  seen 
with  veiled  head  to  turn  to  a  stone  and  approach  every 
altar  and  fall  prostrate  on  the  ground  and  spread  out 


91 

the  palms  before  the  statues  of  the  gods  and  sprinkle 
the  altars  with  much  blood  of  beasts  and  link  vow  on 
to  vow,  but  rather  to  be  able  to  look  on  all  things  with 
a  mind  at  peace.  For  when  we  turn  our  gaze  on  the 
heavenly  quarters  of  the  great  upper  world  and  ether 
fast  above  the  glittering  stars,  and  direct  our  thoughts 
to  the  courses  of  the  sun  and  moon,  then  into  our 
breasts  burdened  with  other  ills  that  fear  as  well  be- 
gins to  exalt  its  reawakened  head,  the  fear  that  we 
may  haply  find  the  power  of  the  gods  to  be  unlimited, 
able  to  wheel  the  bright  stars  in  their  varied  motion ; 
for  lack  of  power  to  solve  the  question  troubles  the 
mind  with  doubts,  whether  there  was  ever  a  birth-time 
of  the  world,  and  whether  likewise  there  is  to  be  any 
end ;  how  far  the  walls  of  the  world  can  endure  this 
strain  of  restless  motion  ;  or  whether  gifted  by  the 
grace  of  the  gods  with  an  everlasting  existence  they 
may  glide  on  through  a  never-ending  tract  of  time  and 
defy  the  strong  powers  of  immeasurable  ages.  Again 
who  is  there  whose  mind  does  not  shrink  into  itself 
with  fear  of  the  gods,  whose  limbs  do  not  cower  in 
terror,  when  the  parched  earth  rocks  with  the  appall- 
ing thunderstroke  and  rattlings  run  through  the  great 
heaven  ?  Do  not  peoples  and  nations  quake,  and 
proud  monarchs  shrink  into  themselves  smitten  with 
fear  of  the  gods,  lest  for  any  foul  transgression  or 
overweening  word  the  heavy  time  of  reckoning  has 
arrived  at  its  fulness  ?  When  too  the  utmost  fury  of 
the  headstrong  wind  passes  over  the  sea  and  sweeps 
over  its  waters  the  commander  of  a  fleet  together  with 
his  mighty  legions  and  elephants,  does  he  not  draw 
near  with  vows  to  seek  the  mercy  of  the  gods  and  ask 
in  prayer  with  fear  and  trembling  a  lull  in  the  winds 
and  propitious  gales  ;  but  all  in  vain,  since  often  caught 


92  LUCRETIUS 

up  in  the  furious  hurricane  he  is  borne  none  the  less 
to  the  shoals  of  death  ?  so  constantly  does  some  hid- 
den power  trample  on  human  grandeur  and  is  seen  to 
tread  under  its  heel  and  make  sport  for  itself  of  the 
renowned  rods  and  cruel  axes.1  Again  when  the  whole 
earth  rocks  under  their  feet  and  towns  tumble  with 
the  shock  or  doubtfully  threaten  to  fall,  what  wonder 
that  mortal  men  abase  themselves  and  make  over  to 
the  gods  in  things  here  on  earth  high  prerogatives  and 
marvellous  powers,  sufficient  to  govern  all  things  ? 

To  proceed,  copper  and  gold  and  iron  were  discov- 
ered and  at  the  same  time  weighty  silver  and  the  sub- 
stance of  lead,  when  fire  with  its  heat  had  burnt  up 
vast  forests  on  the  great  hills,  either  by  a  discharge 
of  heaven's  lightning,  or  else  because  men  waging 
with  one  another  a  forest-war  had  carried  fire  among 
the  enemy  in  order  to  strike  terror,  or  because  drawn 
on  by  the  goodness  of  the  soil  they  would  wish  to 
clear  rich  fields,  and  bring  the  country  into  pasture, 
or  else  to  destroy  wild  beasts  and  enrich  themselves 
with  the  booty  ;  for  hunting  with  the  pitfall  and  with 
fire  came  into  use  before  the  practice  of  enclosing  the 
lawn  with  toils  and  stirring  it  with  dogs.  Whatever 
the  fact  is,  from  whatever  cause  the  heat  of  fiame  had 
swallowed  up  the  forests  with  a  frightful  crackling 
from  their  very  roots  and  had  thoroughly  baked  the 
earth  with  fire,  there  would  run  from  the  boiling  veins 
and  collect  into  the  hollows  of  the  ground  a  stream  of 
silver  and  gold,  as  well  as  of  copper  and  lead.  And 
when  they  saw  these  afterwards  cool  into  lumps  and 
glitter  on  the  earth  with  a  brilliant  gleam,  they  would 
lift  them  up  attracted  by  the  bright  and  polished  lus- 

1  A  bundle  of  rods  enclosing  an  axe  was  the  emblem  of  magisterial 
authority  at  Rome. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  93 

tre,  and  they  would  see  them  to  be  moulded  in  a  shape 
the  same  as  the  outline  of  the  cavities  in  which  each 
lay.  Then  it  would  strike  them  that  these  might  be 
melted  by  heat  and  cast  in  any  form  or  shape  soever, 
and  might  by  hammering  out  be  brought  to  tapering 
points  of  any  degree  of  sharpness  and  fineness,  so  as 
to  furnish  them  with  tools  and  enable  them  to  cut  the 
forests  and  hew  timber  and  plane  smooth  the  planks, 
and  also  to  drill  and  pierce  and  bore,  and  they  would 
set  about  these  works  just  as  much  with  silver  and 
gold  at  first  as  with  the  overpowering  strength  of  stout 
copper,  but  in  vain,  since  their  force  would  fail  and 
give  way  and  not  be  able  like  copper  to  stand  the 
severe  strain.  At  that  time  copper  was  in  higher 
esteem  and  gold  would  be  neglected  on  account  of  its 
uselessness,  with  its  dull  blunted  edge ;  now  copper 
lies  neglected,  gold  has  mounted  up  to  the  highest 
place  of  honor.  Thus  time  as  it  goes  round  changes 
the  seasons  of  things.  That  which  was  in  esteem, 
falls  at  length  into  utter  disrepute ;  and  then  another 
thing  mounts  up  and  issues  out  of  its  degraded  state 
and  every  day  is  more  and  more  coveted  and  blossoms 
forth  high  in  honor  when  discovered  and  is  in  marvel- 
lous repute  with  men. 

And  now,  Memmius,  it  is  easy  for  you  to  find  out 
by  yourself  in  what  way  the  nature  of  iron  was  dis- 
covered. Arms  of  old  were  hands  nails  and  teeth 
and  stones  and  boughs  broken  off  from  the  forests, 
and  flame  and  fire,  as  soon  as  they  had  become  known. 
Afterwards  the  force  of  iron  and  copper  was  discov- 
ered, and  the  use  of  copper  was  known  before  that  of 
iron,  as  its  nature  is  easier  to  work  and  it  is  found  in 
greater  quantity.  With  copper  they  would  labor  the 
soil  of  the  earth,  with  copper  stir  up  the  billows  of 


94  LUCRETIUS 

war  and  deal  about  wide  gaping  wounds  and  seize  cat- 
tle and  lands  ;  for  everything  defenceless  and  unarmed 
would  readily  yield  to  them  with  arms  in  hand.  Then 
by  slow  steps  the  sword  of  iron  gained  ground  and  the 
make  of  the  copper  sickle  became  a  by-word;  and 
with  iron  they  began  to  plough  through  the  earth's 
soil,  and  the  struggles  of  wavering  war  were  rendered 
equal,  and  the  custom  of  mounting  in  arms  on  the 
back  of  a  horse  and  guiding  him  with  reins  and  shew- 
ing prowess  with  the  right  hand  is  older  than  that  of 
tempting  the  risks  of  war  in  a  two-horsed  chariot ; 
and  yoking  a  pair  of  horses  is  older  than  yoking  four 
or  mounting  in  arms  scythed  chariots.  Next  the 
Poeni 1  taught  the  lucan  kine 2  with  towered  body, 
hideous  of  aspect,  with  snake-like  hand,  to  endure  the 
wounds  of  war  and  to  disorder  the  mighty  ranks  of 
Mars.  Thus  sad  discord  begat  one  thing  after  an- 
other, to  affright  nations  of  men  under  arms,  and 
every  day  made  some  addition  to  the  terrors  of  war. 

They  made  trial  of  bulls  too  in  the  service  of  war 
and  essayed  to  send  savage  boars  against  the  enemy, 
and  some  sent  before  them  valorous  lions  with  armed 
trainers  and  courageous  keepers  to  guide  them  and  to 
hold  them  in  chains  ;  but  in  vain  since  heated  with 
promiscuous  slaughter  they  would  disorder  in  their 
rage  the  troops  without  distinction,  shaking  all  about 
the  frightful  crests  upon  their  heads ;  and  the  horse- 
men were  not  able  to  calm  the  breasts  of  the  horses 
scared  by  the  roaring  and  turn  them  with  the  bridle 
upon  the  enemy.  The  lionesses  with  a  spring  would 
throw  their  enraged  bodies  on  all  sides  and  would 

1  The  Carthaginians. 

3  Elephants  were  so  called  because  the  Romans  first  saw  them  in 
iii.  in  southern  Italy,  in  the  array  of  I'yrrhus. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  G5 

attack  in  the  face  those  who  met  them,  and  others  off 
their  guard  they  would  tear  down  from  above,  and 
twining  round  them  would  bring  them  to  the  ground 
overpowered  by  the  wound,  fastening  on  them  with 
firm  bite  and  with  hooked  claws.  The  bulls  would 
toss  their  own  friends  and  trample  them  under  foot 
and  gore  with  their  horns  the  flanks  and  bellies  of  the 
horses  underneath  and  turn  up  the  earth  with  threat- 
ening front.  The  boars  too  would  rend  their  friends 
with  powerful  tusks,  in  their  rage  dyeing  with  their 
blood  the  weapons  broken  in  them,  ay  dyeing  with 
their  blood  the  weapons  broken  in  their  own  bodies  ; 
and  would  put  to  promiscuous  rout  horse  and  foot ; 
for  the  tame  beasts  would  try  to  avoid  by  shying  to 
the  side  the  cruel  push  of  the  tusk,  or  would  rear  up 
and  paw  the  winds,  all  in  vain,  since  you  might  see 
them  tumble  down  with  their  tendons  severed  and  straw 
the  ground  in  their  heavy  fall.  Those  whom  they 
believed  before  to  have  been  sufficiently  broken  in  at 
home,  they  would  see  lash  themselves  into  fury  in  the 
heat  of  action  from  wounds  and  shouting,  flight  panic 
and  uproar  ;  and  they  could  not  rally  any  portion  of 
them ;  for  all  the  different  kinds  of  wild  beasts  would 
fly  all  abroad  ;  just  as  now  the  lucan  kine  when  cru- 
elly mangled  by  the  steel  fly  often  all  abroad,  after 
inflicting  on  their  friends  many  cruel  sufferings.  But 
men  chose  thus  to  act  not  so  much  in  any  hope  of  vic- 
tory, as  from  a  wish  to  give  the  enemy  something  to 
rue  at  the  cost  of  their  own  lives,  when  they  mistrusted 
their  numbers  and  were  in  want  of  arms. 

A  garment  tied  on  the  body  was  in  use  before  a 
dress  of  woven  stuff.  Woven  stuff  comes  after  iron, 
because  iron  is  needed  for  weaving  a  web  ;  and  in  no 
other  way  can  such  finely  polished  things  be  made,  as 


96  LUCRETIUS 

heddles  and  spindles,  shuttles  and  ringing  yarn-beams. 
And  nature  impelled  men  to  work  up  the  wool  before 
womankind ;  for  the  male  sex  in  general  far  excels 
the  other  in  skill  and  is  much  more  ingenious ;  until 
the  rugged  countrymen  so  upbraided  them  with  it, 
that  they  were  glad  to  give  it  over  into  the  hands  of 
the  women  and  take  their  share  in  supporting  hard 
toil,  and  in  such  hard  work  hardened  body  and 
hands. 

But  nature  parent  of  things  was  herself  the  first 
model  of  sowing  and  first  gave  rise  to  grafting,  since 
berries  and  acorns  dropping  from  the  trees  would  put 
forth  in  due  season  swarms  of  young  shoots  under- 
neath ;  and  hence  also  came  the  fashion  of  inserting 
grafts  in  their  stocks  and  planting  in  the  ground 
young  saplings  over  the  fields.  Next  they  would  try 
another  and  yet  another  kind  of  tillage  for  their  loved 
piece  of  land  and  would  see  the  earth  better  the  wild 
fruits  through  genial  fostering  and  kindly  cultiva- 
tion, and  they  would  force  the  forests  to  recede  every 
day  higher  and  higher  up  the  hillside  and  yield  the 
ground  below  to  tilth,  in  order  to  have  on  the  uplands 
and  plains  meadows  tanks  runnels  cornfields  and  glad 
vineyards,  and  allow  a  gray-green  strip  of  olives  to 
run  between  and  mark  the  divisions,  spreading  itself 
over  hillocks  and  valleys  and  plains  ;  just  as  you  now 
see  richly  dight  with  varied  beauty  all  the  ground 
which  they  lay  out  and  plant  with  rows  of  sweet  fruit- 
trees,  and  enclose  all  round  with  plantations  of  other 
goodly  trees. 

But  imitating  with  the  mouth  the  clear  notes  of 
birds  was  in  use  long  before  men  were  able  to  sing 
in  tune  smooth-running  verses  and  give  pleasure  to 
the  ear.  And  the  whistlings  of  the  zephyr  through 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  97 

the  hollows  of  reeds  first  taught  peasants  to  blow  into 
hollow  stalks.  Then  step  by  step  they  learned  sweet 
plaintive  ditties,  which  the  pipe  pours  forth  pressed  by 
the  fingers  of  the  players,  heard  through  pathless  woods 
and  forests  and  lawns,  through  the  unfrequented  haunts 
of  shepherds  and  abodes  of  unearthly  calm.  These 
things  would  soothe  and  gratify  their  minds  when  sated 
with  food  ;  for  then  all  things  of  this  kind  are  wel- 
come. Often  therefore  stretched  in  groups  on  the  soft 
grass  beside  a  stream  of  water  under  the  boughs  of 
a  high  tree  at  no  great  cost  they  would  pleasantly  re- 
fresh their  bodies,  above  all  when  the  weather  smiled 
and  the  seasons  of  the  year  painted  the  green  grass 
with  flowers.  Then  went  round  the  jest,  the  tale,  the 
peals  of  merry  laughter;  for  the  peasant  muse  was 
then  in  its  glory ;  then  f  rolick  mirth  would  prompt  to 
entwine  head  and  shoulders  with  garlands  plaited  with 
flowers  and  leaves,  and  to  advance  in  the  dance  out  of 
step  and  move  the  limbs  clumsily  and  with  clumsy  feet 
beat  mother  earth ;  which  would  occasion  smiles  and 
peals  of  merry  laughter,  because  all  these  things  then 
from  their  greater  novelty  and  strangeness  were  in 
high  repute,  and  the  wakeful  found  a  solace  for  want 
of  sleep  in  this,  in  drawing  out  a  variety  of  notes  and 
going  through  tunes  and  running  over  the  reeds  with 
curving  lip ;  whence  even  at  the  present  day  watch- 
men observe  these  traditions  and  have  lately  learned  to 
keep  the  proper  tune ;  and  yet  for  all  this  receive  not 
a  jot  more  of  enjoyment  than  erst  the  rugged  race  of 
sons  of  earth  received.  For  that  which  we  have  in  our 
hands,  if  we  have  known  before  nothing  pleasanter, 
pleases  above  all  and  is  thought  to  be  the  best ;  and  as 
a  rule  the  later  discovery  of  something  better  spoils 
the  taste  for  the  former  things  and  changes  the  feel- 


98  LUCRETIUS 

ings  in  regard  to  all  that  has  gone  before.  Thus 
began  distaste  for  the  acorn,  thus  were  abandoned 
those  sleeping  places  strawn  with  grass  and  enriched 
with  leaves.  The  dress  too  of  wild  beasts'  skin  fell 
into  neglect ;  though  I  can  fancy  that  in  those  days  it 
was  found  to  arouse  such  jealousy  that  he  who  first 
wore  it  met  his  death  by  an  ambuscade,  and  after  all  it 
was  torn  in  pieces  among  them  and  drenched  in  blood 
was  utterly  destroyed  and  could  not  be  turned  to  any 
use.  In  those  times  therefore  skins,  now  gold  and  pur- 
ple plague  men's  lives  with  cares  and  wear  them  out 
with  war.  And  in  this  methinks  the  greater  blame 
rests  with  us ;  for  cold  would  torture  the  naked  sons 
of  earth  without  their  skins  ;  but  us  it  harms  not  in 
the  least  to  do  without  a  robe  of  purple,  spangled 
with  gold  and  large  figures,  if  only  we  have  a  dress 
of  the  people  to  protect  us.  Mankind  therefore  ever 
toils  vainly  and  to  no  purpose  and  wastes  life  in 
groundless  cares,  because  sure  enough  they  have  not 
learnt  what  is  the  true  end  of  getting  and  up  to  what 
point  genuine  pleasure  goes  on  increasing:  this  by 
slow  degrees  has  carried  life  out  into  the  deep  sea  and 
stirred  up  from  their  lowest  depths  the  mighty  billows 
of  war. 

But  those  watchful  guardians  sun  and  moon  travers- 
ing with  their  light  all  round  the  great  revolving 
sphere  of  heaven  taught  men  that  the  seasons  of  the 
year  came  round  and  that  the  system  was  carried  on 
after  a  fixed  plan  and  fixed  order. 

Already  they  would  pass  their  life  fenced  about  with 
strong  towers,  and  the  land,  portioned  out  and  marked 
off  by  boundaries,  be  tilled ;  the  sea  would  be  filled 
with  ships  scudding  under  sail ;  towns  have  auxiliaries 
and  allies  as  stipulated  by  treaty,  when  poets  began  to 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MAN  99 

consign  the  deeds  of  men  to  verse  ;  and  letters  had  not 
been  invented  long  before.  For  this  reason  our  age 
cannot  look  back  to  what  has  gone  before,  save  where 
reason  points  out  any  traces. 

Ships  and  tillage,  walls,  laws,  roads,  dress,  and  all 
such  like  things,  all  the  prizes,  all  the  elegancies  too  of 
life  without  exception,  poems,  pictures,  and  the  chisel- 
ling of  fine-wrought  statues,  all  these  things  practice 
together  with  the  acquired  knowledge  of  the  untiring 
mind  taught  men  by  slow  degrees  as  they  advanced  on 
the  way  step  by  step.  Thus  time  by  degrees  brings 
each  several  thing  forth  before  men's  eyes  and  reason 
raises  it  up  into  the  borders  of  light ;  for  things  must 
be  brought  to  light  one  after  the  other  and  in  due 
order  in  the  different  arts,  until  .these  have  reached 
their  highest  point  of  development. 

H.  A.  J.  MUNRO. 


CATULLUS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

SWEETEST  of  Roman  singers,  Catullus  has  won  the 
hearts  of  his  readers  both  in  ancient  and  in  modern  times 
by  his  perfect  sincerity,  his  exquisite  tenderness,  his  abso- 
lute ingenuousness.  Strange  anomaly,  a  love  poet  with  a 
really  great  love,  he  has  told  his  story  with  simple  direct- 
ness, expressed  its  varying  phases  with  compelling  candor, 
traced  its  course,  which  ran  any  way  but  smoothly,  with  a 
range  of  feeling  that  places  his  lyrics  among  the  truest  and 
most  spontaneous  utterances  in  literature.  At  once  buoy- 
ant and  moody,  with  equal  capacity  for  great  happiness  and 
for  great  suffering,  his  poems  show  him  now  striking  the 
stars,  now  plunged  in  depths  of  woe.  Yet  all  told,  after 
reading  his  "little  book,"  with  its  alternate  sunshine  and 
shadow,  it  is  the  more  sombre  tone  that  prevails ;  and  the 
lighter  pieces,  while  of  lasting  charm  in  themselves  from 
their  exuberance  of  spirits,  their  air  of  good  fellowship, 
their  humorous  and  satirical  touches,  have  another  and  per- 
haps, from  the  point  of  view  of  the  book  as  a  whole,  a  still 
more  striking  effect  in  that  they  act  as  foils  to  those  poems 
of  the  Lesbia  group  in  which  the  poet's  feelings  find  their 
most  passionate  expression.  These  are  of  singular  inten- 
sity, some  of  them  written  in  the  heyday  of  his  hopes  and 
happiness,  some  in  times  of  doubt  and  disillusion,  some 
telling  of  his  struggle  between  his  love  for  Lesbia  and  his 
knowledge  of  her  faithlessness,  more  than  one  a  renuncia- 
tion, —  all  examples  of  genuine  self-revelation,  the  record  of 
a  rare  spirit  who  happened  upon  misfortune. 


CATULLUS  101 

He  was  born  at  Verona  in  84  B.  C.  Almost  the  whole 
period  of  his  literary  activity,  however,  was  spent  in  Rome, 
and  it  was  there  that  he  met  Lesbia,  as  she  is  called  in  his 
poems,  who  seems  to  have  given  the  first  stimulus  to  his 
lyrical  gift.  While  her  identity  has  not  been  finally  deter- 
mined, it  is  probable  that  she  was  none  other  than  Clodia, 
the  sister  of  Clod  ins,  the  notorious  enemy  of  Cicero.  His 
affair  with  her  lasted  about  four  years,  from  61-58.  In 
57  he  joined  the  suite  of  the  propraetor  Memmius,  who  was 
going  out  to  Bithynia.  On  returning  to  Rome  in  the  fol- 
lowing year,  he  showed  an  increased  interest  in  politics, 
bitterly  opposing  Caesar  and  his  party.  There  is  no  refer- 
ence in  his  writings  to  any  event  later  than  54,  and  it  is 
assumed  that  he  died  soon  after  that  year. 

Besides  the  Lesbia  lyrics,  the  verses  to  different  friends, 
and  other  occasional  pieces,  we  have  a  number  of  epigrams 
and  some  longer  poems,  among  which  may  be  mentioned 
the  Marriage  ofPeleus  and  Thetis,  an  epyllion  or  miniature 
epic,  into  which  is  woven  the  story  of  Theseus  and  Ariadne ; 
the  Attis,  describing  the  self -mutilation  of  a  young  devotee 
of  Cybele  ;  the  Epithalamium  of  Julia  and  Manlius,  one 
of  the  finest  products  of  the  poet's  genius  ;  and  Berenice's 
Hair,  in  which  the  hair  itself  gives  the  true  history  of  its 
elevation  from  the  head  of  Berenice,  the  sister,  wife,  and 
queen  of  Ptolemy  Euergetes,  to  a  place  in  the  heavens. 
While  these,  in  contrast  to  the  best  of  the  shorter  poems, 
show  in  many  respects  the  influence  of  the  tenets  of  the 
group  of  "  new  poets,"  among  whom  Catullus'  closest  liter- 
ary friends  were,  and  who,  in  violent  reaction  from  the 
standards  of  the  older  national  school,  looked  to  Alexan- 
drian poetry  as  the  only  means  of  literary  salvation,  yet 
there  are  in  almost  all  of  them  striking  manifestations  of 
those  qualities  of  imagination  and  true  poetic  insight  which 
make  Catullus  one  of  Rome's  greatest  poets. 


102  CATULLUS 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  LESBIA'S  SPARROW 
(in.)1 

LOVES  and  Graces  mourn  with  me, 

Mourn,  fair  youths,  where'er  ye  be  ! 

Dead  my  Lesbia's  sparrow  is, 

Sparrow,  that  was  all  her  bliss, 

Than  her  very  eyes  more  dear ;  5 

For  he  made  her  dainty  cheer, 

Knew  her  well,  as  any  maid 

Knows  her  mother,  never  strayed 

From  her  bosom,  but  would  go 

Hopping  round  her,  to  and  fro,  10 

And  to  her,  and  her  alone, 

Chirrup'd  with  such  pretty  tone. 

Now  he  treads  that  gloomy  track, 

Whence  none  ever  may  come  back. 

Out  upon  you,  and  your  power,  is 

Which  all  fairest  things  devour, 

Orcus'  gloomy  shades,  that  e'er 

Ye  took  my  bird  that  was  so  fair ! 

Ah,  the  pity  of  it !     Thou 

Poor  bird,  thy  doing  't  is,  that  now  20 

My  loved  one's  eyes  are  swollen  and  red, 

With  weeping  for  her  darling  dead. 

SIB  THEODOBB  MARTIN. 

1  The  number  of  the  poem  in  the  complete  collection. 


DEDICATION  OF  HIS  PINNACE  103 

DEDICATION   OF  HIS   PINNACE1 
(IV.) 

THAT  pinnace,  friends,  can  boast  that  erst 

'T  was  swiftest  of  its  kind  ; 
Nor  swam  the  bark  whose  fleetest  burst 

It  could  not  leave  behind ; 

Whether  the  toiling  rower's  force  s 

Or  swelling  sail  impell'd  its  course. 

This  boast,  it  dares  the  shores  that  bound 

The  Adrian's  2  stormy  space, 
The  Cyclad  3  islands  sea-girt  round, 

Bright  Rhodes  or  rugged  Thrace,  10 

The  wide  Propontis  4  to  gainsay, 
Or  still  tempestuous  Pontic  bay. 

There,  ere  it  swam  'mid  fleetest  prows, 

A  grove  of  spreading  trees 
On  high  Cytorus'  6  hill,  its  boughs  is 

Oft  whisper'd  in  the  breeze. 
Amastris,6  pride  of  Pontic  floods, 
Cytorus,  green  with  boxen  woods, 

1  Pointing  out  to  some  friends  an  old  pinnace  beached  somewhere 
near  his  villa  on  the  shore  of  the  Lago  di  Garda,  Catullus  tells  how  it 
had  once  borne  him  home  from  Asia  Minor.    After  mentioning  the 
most  important  places  touched  at  or  passed  on  the  voyage,  he  dedi- 
cates the  hulk  to  Castor  and  Pollux,  twin  gods  of  navigation. 

2  The  Adriatic  Sea.     The  voyage  is  traced  backward  from  Italy  to 
Asia. 

8  In  the  Aegean  Sea. 

4  Sea  of  Marmora. 

6  A  hill  near  the  south  coast  of  the  Black  Sea. 

6  A  city  on  the  Black  Sea. 


104  CATULLUS 

Ye  knew  it  then,  and  all  its  race, 

And  know  the  pinnace  too,  20 

Which  from  its  earliest  rise,  to  grace 

Thy  lofty  summit  grew ; 
And  in  the  waves  that  wash  thy  shores 
Which  moisten'd  first  its  sturdy  oars. 

Thence  many  vainly  raging  seas  25 

It  bore  its  master  through ; 
Whether  from  right  or  left  the  breeze 

Upon  the  canvas  blew  ; 
Or  prosperous  to  its  course  the  gale 
Spread  full  and  square  the  straining  sail.  so 

No  vows  to  Ocean's  gods  it  gave, 

For  then  no  storm  could  shake  ; 
When  erst  from  that  remotest  wave 

It  sought  this  limpid  lake  :  1 
But,  ah !  those  days  are  fled  at  length,  as 

And  fled  with  them  are  speed  and  strength. 

Now  old,  worn  out,  and  lost  to  fame, 

In  rest  that  's  justly  due, 
It  dedicates  this  shatter'd  frame, 

Ye  glorious  Twins,2  to  you  —  40 

To  you,  whose  often  cheering  ray 
Beam'd  light  and  safety  on  its  way. 

GEORGE  LAMB. 

1  Lake  Benacns,  now  the  Logo  di  Garda.  The  last  part  of  the  voy- 
age was  up  the  rivers  Po  and  Mincio. 

a  The  constellation  Gemini  was  supposed  to  be  Castor  and  Pol- 
lax. 


TO  LESBIA  105 

TO   LESBIA 

(V.) 

LIVING,  Lesbia,  we  should  e'en  be  loving. 
Sour  severity,  tongue  of  eld  maligning, 
All  be  to  us  a  penny's  estimation. 

Suns  set  only  to  rise  again  to-morrow. 

We,  when  sets  in  a  little  hour  the  brief  light,          5 

Sleep  one  infinite  age,  a  night  for  ever. 

Thousand  kisses,  anon  to  these  an  hundred, 
Thousand  kisses  again,  another  hundred, 
Thousand  give  me  again,  another  hundred. 

Then  once  heedf  ully  counted  all  the  thousands, 
We  '11  uncount  them  as  idly  ;  so  we  shall  not 
Know,  nor  traitorous  eye  shall  envy,1  knowing 
All  those  myriad  happy  many  kisses. 

ROBINSON  ELLIS. 


TO  THE  SAME 

(vn.) 

DOST  thou,  Lesbia,  ask  that  I 

Say  how  many  of  thy  kisses 
Would  my  craving  satisfy, 

Yes,  would  surfeit  me  with  blisses  ? 

1  Information  as  to  the  exact  number  of  blessings  of  any  kind  was 
supposed  to  enable  an  enemy  to  exert  an  evil  influence. 


106  CATULLUS 

Count  the  grains  of  sand  besprent  5 

O'er  Gyrene's  1  spicy  plain, 
'Twixt  old  Battus' 2  monument 

And  the  sweltering  Hammon's  3  fane. 

Count  the  silent  stars  of  night, 

That  be  ever  watching,  when  10 

Lovers  tasting  stol'n  delight 

Dream  not  of  their  silent  ken. 

When  these  numbers  thou  hast  told, 
And  hast  kisses  given  as  many, 

Then  I  may,  perchance,  cry  hold !  w 

And  no  longer  wish  for  any. 

But,  my  love,  there 's  no  amount 

For  a  rage  like  mine  too  vast, 
Which  a  curious  fool  may  count, 

Or  with  tongue  malignant  blast.  20 

Snt  THEODORE  MARTIN. 


TO  HIMSELF 

ON  LESBIA'S  INCONSTANCY 

(VIE.) 

AH,  poor  Catullus,  learn  to  put  away 

Thy  childish  things. 
The  lost  is  lost,  be  sure  ;  the  task  essay 

That  manhood  brings. 

1  A  city  in  Libya. 

2  The  founder  of  Cyrene. 

8  A  name  under  which  Jupiter  was  worshipped  in  Africa. 


TO  HIMSELF  107 

Fair  shone  the  skies  on  thee  when  thou  to  fare        s 

Wast  ever  fain 
Where  the  girl  beckon'd,  lov'd  as  girl  shall  ne'er 

Be  lov'd  again. 

Yes,  fain  thou  wast  for  merry  mirth ;  and  she  — 

She  ne'er  said  nay.  10 

Ah,  gayly  then  the  morning  smil'd  on  thee 
Each  happy  day. 

Now,  she  saith  nay ;  but  thou  be  strong  to  bear, 

Harden  thy  heart ; 
Nor  nurse  thy  grief,  nor  cling  to  her  so  fair,  is 

So  fixt  to  part. 

Farewell !     I  've  learn'd  my  lesson :  I  '11  endure, 

Nor  try  to  find 
Words  that  might  wake  thy  ruth,  or  even  cure 

Thy  poison'd  mind.  20 

Yet  will  the  time  come  when  thy  heart  shall  bleed, 

Accursed  one, 
When  thou  shalt  come  to  eld  with  none  to  heed, 

Unwooed,  unwon. 

Who  then  will  seek  thee  ?  Who  will  call  thee  fair  ? 

Call  thee  his  own  ?  26 

Whose  kisses  and  whose  dalliance  wilt  thou  share  ? 

Be  stone,  my  heart,  be  stone. 

R.  Y.  TYBBELL. 


108  CATULLUS 

VARUS'   MISTRESS 

(X.) 

VAEUS,  whom  I  chanced  to  meet 

The  other  evening  in  the  street, 

Engaged  me  there,  upon  the  spot, 

To  see  a  mistress  he  had  got. 

She  seem'd,  as  far  as  I  can  gather,  5 

Lively  and  smart,  and  handsome  rather. 

There,  as  we  rested  from  our  walk, 

We  enter'd  into  different  talk  — 

As,  how  much  might  Bithynia  bring  ? 

And  had  I  found  it  a  good  thing  ?  10 

I  answer'd,  as  it  was  the  fact, 

The  province  had  been  stript  and  sack'd  ; 

That  there  was  nothing  for  the  praetors, 

And  still  less  for  us  wretched  creatures, 

His  poor  companions  and  toad-eaters.  is 

"  At  least,"  says  she,  "  you  bought  some  fellows 

To  bear  your  litter  ;  for  they  tell  us, 

Our  only  good  ones  come  from  there." 

I  chose  to  give  myself  an  air  ; 
"  Why,  truly,  with  my  poor  estate,  20 

The  difference  was  n't  quite  so  great 

Betwixt  a  province,  good  or  bad, 

That  where  a  purchase  could  be  had, 

Eight  lusty  fellows,  straight  and  tall, 

I  should  n't  find  the  wherewithal  M 

To  buy  them."     But  it  was  a  lie ; 

For  not  a  single  wretch  had  I  — 

No  single  cripple  fit  to  bear 

A  broken  bedstead  or  a  chair. 

She,  like  a  strumpet,  pert  and  knowing,  so 


TO  FABULLUS  109 

Said  —  "  Dear  Catullus,  I  am  going 

To  worship  at  Serapis' l  shrine  — 

Do  lend  me,  pray,  those  slaves  of  thine  !  " 

I  answered  —  "  It  was  idly  said,  — 

They  were  a  purchase  Cinna  made  35 

(Caius  Cinna,  my  good  friend)  — 

It  was  the  same  thing  in  the  end, 

Whether  a  purchase  or  a  loan  — 

I  always  used  them  as  my  own  ; 

Only  the  phrase  was  inexact  —  40 

He  bought  them  for  himself,  in  fact. 

But  you  have  caught  the  general  vice 

Of  being  too  correct  and  nice, 

Over  curious  and  precise  ; 

And  seizing  with  precipitation  45 

The  slight  neglects  of  conversation." 

J.  HOOK  HAM  FKKKI:. 

TO  FABULLUS 
(Xm.) 

You  dine  with  me,  Fabullus  mine, 
On  Friday  next,  at  half -past  two : 

And  I  can  promise  that  you  '11  dine 
As  well  as  man  need  wish  to  do ; 

If  you  bring  with  you,  when  you  come,  5 

A  dinner  of  the  very  best, 
And  lots  of  wine  and  mirth,  and  some 

Fair  girl  to  give  the  whole  a  zest. 

But  bring  all  these  you  must,  I  vow, 

If  you  're  to  find  yourself  in  clover,  10 

1  An  Egyptian  divinity,  whose  cult  was  fashionable  in  Catullus' 
time. 


110  CATULLUS 

For  your  Catullus'  purse  just  now 
With  spiders'  webs  is  running  over. 

But  anyhow,  a  welcome  warm 

And  loving  shall  be  yours,  I  ween ; 

And,  for  a  rarer,  daintier  charm,  is 

A  perfume  which  the  Paphian  queen  * 

Gave  to  my  girl,  —  so  rare,  so  sweet, 
That,  when  you  smell  it,  in  the  throes 

Of  ecstasy  you  '11  straight  entreat 

The  gods  to  make  you  wholly  nose.  20 

SIB  THEODORE  MARTIN. 

TO  SIRMIO2 
(XXXI.) 

0  BEST  of  all  the  scattered  spots  that  lie 

In  sea  or  lake  —  apple  of  landscape's  eye  — 

How  gladly  do  I  drop  within  thy  nest, 

With  what  a  sigh  of  full  contented  rest, 

Scarce  able  to  believe  my  journey  o'er,  5 

And  that  these  eyes  behold  thee  safe  once  more. 

Oh,  where  's  the  luxury  like  the  smile  at  heart, 

When  the  mind,  breathing,  lays  its  load  apart  — 

When  we  come  home  again,  tired  out,  and  spread 

The  loosened  limbs  o'er  all  the  wished-for  bed  ;      10 

This,  this  alone  is  worth  an  age  of  toil ! 

Hail  lovely  Sirmio !     Hail  paternal  soil ! 

Joy,  my  bright  waters,  joy,  your  master 's  come  I 

Laugh,  every  dimple  on  the  cheek  of  home  I 

LEIQH  HUNT. 

1  Venn*. 

2  A  peninsula  in  the  Lago  dl  Garda,  where  Catullus  had  a  villa. 


TO  DIANA  111 

TO   DIANA 
(XXXIV.) 

DIANA  guardeth  our  estate, 
Girls  and  boys  immaculate : 
Boys  and  maidens  pure  of  stain, 
Be  Diana  our  refrain. 

O  Latonia,1  pledge  of  love  5 

Glorious  to  most  glorious  Jove, 
Near  the  Delian  2  olive-tree 
Latona  gave  thy  life  to  thee, 

That  thou  shouldst  be  forever  queen 

Of  mountains  and  of  forests  green ;  w 

Of  every  deep  glen's  mystery  ; 

Of  all  streams  and  their  melody : 

Women  in  travail  ask  their  peace 

From  thee,  our  Lady  of  Release  : 

Thou  art  the  Watcher  of  the  Ways :  15 

Thou  art  the  moon  with  borrow'd  rays  ; 

And  as  thy  full  or  waning  tide 

Marks  how  the  monthly  seasons  glide, 

Thou,  Goddess,  sendest  wealth  of  store 

To  bless  the  farmer's  thrifty  floor.  20 

Whatever  name  delights  thine  ear, 
By  that  name  be  thou  hallow'd  here 

1  Diana,  daughter  of  Latona. 

2  The  island  of  Delos,  one  of  the  Cyclades,  was  supposed  to  be  the 
birthplace  of  Apollo  and  Diana. 


112  CATULLUS 


And  as  of  old  be  good  to  us, 

The  lineage  of  Romulus. 

R.  C.  JEBB. 


TO  CORNIFICIUS 

(xxx  vm.) 

CORNIFICIUS,  ill  is  your  Catullus, 

111,  ah  heaven,  a  weary  weight  of  anguish, 

More,  more  weary  with  every  day,  with  each  hour. 

You  deny  me  the  least,  the  very  lightest 

Help,  one  whisper  of  happy  thought  to  cheer  me.  s 

Nay,  I  'm  sorrowful.     You  to  slight  my  passion  ? 
Ah !  one  word,  but  a  tiny  word  to  cheer  me, 
Sad  as  ever  a  tear  Simonidean.1 

ROBINSON  ELLIS. 


ACME  AND  SEPTIMIUS 
(XLV.) 

SEPTIMIUS  cried,  as  on  his  breast 
His  darling  Acme  he  caressed, 
"  My  Acme,  if  I  love  not  thee 
To  madness,  ay,  distractedly, 
And  with  a  love  that  well  I  know  5 

With  time  shall  fonder,  wilder  grow 
In  Libya  may  I  then,  my  sweet, 
Or  India's  burning  deserts  meet 

1  The  allusion  is  to  the  pathetic  quality  of  the  work  of  Simonides, 
the  Greek  lyric  poet  (550-407  B.  c.). 


ACME  Ai        SEPTIMIUS  113 


The  green-eyed  lion's  hungry  glare, 

And  none  be  by  to  help  me  there  !  "  w 

As  thus  he  whispered,  Love  was  pleased, 
And  on  the  right  propitious  sneezed. 

Then  bending  gently  back  her  head, 

And  with  that  mouth,  so  rosy-red, 

Impressing  on  his  eyes  a  kiss,  is 

His  eyes,  that  drunken  were  with  bliss, 
"  Oh,  Septimillus,  life  !  "  cried  she, 
"  So  love  our  only  master  be, 

As  burns  in  me,  thine  Acme  true, 

A  fire  that  thrills  my  marrow  through,  20 

Intenser,  mightier,  more  divine, 

Than  any  thou  canst  feel  in  thine  !  " 

As  thus  she  whispered,  Love  was  pleased, 
And  on  the  right  propitious  sneezed. 

Now  hallowed  by  such  omens  fair,  » 

Each  dotes  on  each,  that  happy  pair. 
He,  sick  with  love,  rates  Acme's  smiles 
Above  the  East  or  Britain's  isles  ; 
Whilst  Acme,  to  Septimius  true, 
For  him,  him  only,  doth  renew  at 

Love's  first  delights,  and  to  her  boy 
Unfolds  fresh  treasuries  of  joy. 

Were  ever  souls  so  lapped  in  bliss  ! 
Was  ever  love  so  blest  as  this  ! 

SIB  THEODORE  MAKTIX. 


114  CATULLUS 

TO   LESBIA 

(LI.) 

HIM  rival  to  the  gods  I  place, 

Him  loftier  yet,  if  loftier  be, 
Who,  Lesbia,  sits  before  thy  face, 

Who  listens  and  who  looks  on  thee ; 

Thee,  smiling  soft.     Yet  this  delight  5 

Doth  all  my  sense  consign  to  death ; 

For  when  thou  dawnest  on  my  sight, 
Ah,  wretched  !  flits  my  laboring  breath. 

My  tongue  is  palsied.     Subtly  hid 

Fire  creeps  me  through  from  limb  to  limb  :    10 
My  loud  ears  tingle  all  unbid : 

Twin  clouds  of  night  mine  eyes  bedim. 

Ease  is  my  plague  :  ease  makes  thee  void, 
Catullus,  with  these  vacant  hours, 

And  wanton  :  ease  that  hath  destroyed  is 

Great  kings,  and  states  with  all  their  powers. 

W.  E.  GLADSTONE. 


JULIA  AND  MANLIUS  115 


THE  EPITHALAMIUM  OF  JULIA  AND  MAN- 
LIUS l 

(LXI.) 

I.8 

You  that  from  the  mother's  side 
Lead  the  lingering,  blushing  bride, 

Fair  Urania's  son  — 
Leave  awhile  the  lonely  mount, 
The  haunted  grove  and  holy  fount  5 

Of  chilling  Helicon. 

ii. 

With  myrtle  wreaths  enweave  thy  hair  — 
Wave  the  torch  aloft  in  air  — 

Make  no  long  delay  : 

With  flowing  robe  and  footsteps  light,  10 

And  gilded  buskins  glancing  bright, 

Hither  bend  thy  way. 

in. 

Join  at  once,  with  airy  vigor, 
In  the  dance's  varied  figure, 
To  the  Cymbal's  chime :  is 

Frolic  unrestrain'd  and  free  — 
Let  voice,  and  air,  and  verse  agree, 
And  the  torch  beat  time. 

1  The  poem  was  written  for  the  marriage  of  Manlius  Torquatus, 
one  of  Catullus'  friends. 

2  Stanzas  i.-viii.  contain  an  invocation  to  Hymen,  God  of  marriage. 


116  CATULLUS 

IV. 

Hymen,  come,  for  Julia 
Weds  with  Manlius  to-day,  ao 

And  deigns  to  be  a  bride. 
Such  a  form  as  Venus  wore 
In  the  contest  famed  of  yore, 

On  Mount  Ida's  side  ; 1 

v. 

Like  the  myrtle  or  the  bay,  25 

Florid,  elegant,  and  gay, 

With  foliage  fresh  and  new  ; 
Which  the  nymphs  and  forest  maids 
Have  foster'd  in  sequester'd  shades, 

With  drops  of  holy  dew.  so 

VI. 

Leave,  then,  all  the  rocks  and  cells 
Of  the  deep  Aonian  2  dells, 

And  the  caverns  hoar ; 
And  the  dreary  streams  that  weep 
From  the  stony  Thespian  steep,8  35 

Dripping  evermore. 

VII. 

Haste  away  to  new  delights, 
To  domestic  happy  rites, 

Human  haunts  and  ways  ; 
With  a  kindly  charm  applied,  40 

Soften  and  appease  the  bride, 

And  shorten  our  delays. 

1  When  Paris  awarded  to  her  the  golden  apple. 
3  Aonia  was  the  name  of  that  part  of  Boeotia  in  which  Mount  Heli- 
con was  situated. 
*  Mount  Helicon,  at  the  foot  of  which  was  the  city  of  Thespiae. 


JULIA   AND  MANLIUS  117 

VIII. 

Bring  her  hither,  bound  to  move, 
Drawn  and  led  with  bands  of  love, 

Like  the  tender  twine  45 

Which  the  searching  ivy  plies, 
Clinging  in  a  thousand  ties 

O'er  the  clasping  vine. 

IX. 

Gentle  virgins, 1  you  besides, 

Whom  the  like  event  betides,  so 

With  the  coming  year ; 
Call  on  Hymen !  call  him  now  ! 
Call  aloud  !     A  virgin  now 

Best  befits  his  ear. 

x. 

"  Is  there  any  deity  55 

More  beloved  and  kind  than  he  — 

More  disposed  to  bless  ; 
Worthy  to  be  worshipp'd  more  ; 
Master  of  a  richer  store 

Of  wealth  and  happiness  ?  eo 

XI. 

"  Youth  and  age  alike  agree, 
Serving  and  adoring  thee, 

The  source  of  hope  and  care : 
Care  and  hope  alike  engage 
The  wary  parent  sunk  in  age  ® 

And  the  restless  heir. 

1  A  choir  of  girls  had  been  chosen  to  sing  the  hymeneal,  which  is 
given  in  stanzas  x.-xvi. 


118  CATULLUS 

XII. 

"  She  the  maiden,  half  afraid, 
Hears  the  new  proposal  made, 

That  proceeds  from  thee ; 

You  resign  and  hand  her  over  70 

To  the  rash  and  hardy  lover 
With  a  fix'd  decree. 

XIII. 

"  Hymen,  Hymen,  you  preside, 
Maintaining  honor  and  the  pride 

Of  women  free  from  blame,  75 

With  a  solemn  warrant  given, 
Is  there  any  power  in  heaven 

That  can  do  the  same  ? 

XIV. 

"  Love,  accompanied  by  thee, 
Passes  unreproved  and  free,  so 

But  without  thee,  not : 
Where  on  earth,  or  in  the  sky, 
Can  you  find  a  deity 

With  a  fairer  lot  ? 

xv. 

"  Heirship  in  an  honor'd  line  « 

Is  sacred  as  a  gift  of  thine, 

But  without  thee,  not : 
Where  on  earth,  or  in  the  sky, 
Can  you  find  a  deity 

With  a  fairer  lot  ?  »o 

XVT. 

"  Rule  and  empire  —  royalty, 
Are  rightful  as  derived  from  thee, 


JULIA  AND  MANLIUS  119 

But  without  thee,  not : 
Where  on  earth,  or  in  the  sky, 
Can  you  find  a  deity  as 

With  a  fairer  lot?" 

XVII.1 

Open  locks  !  unbar  the  gate ! 
Behold  the  ready  troop  that  wait 

The  coming  of  the  bride  ; 
Behold  the  torches,  how  they  flare !  100 

Spreading  aloft  their  sparkling  hair, 

Flashing  far  and  wide. 

xvni. 

Lovely  maiden  !  here  we  waste 
The  timely  moments ;  come  in  haste ! 

Come  then  ....  Out,  alack !  105 

Startled  at  the  glare  and  din, 
She  retires  to  weep  within, 

Lingering,  hanging  back. 

XIX. 

Bashful  honor  and  regret 

For  a  while  detain  her  yet,  no 

Lingering,  taking  leave : 
Taking  leave  and  lingering  still, 
With  a  slow,  reluctant  will, 

With  grief  that  does  not  grieve. 

xx. 

Aurunculeia,  2  cease  your  tears,  us 

And  when  to-morrow's  morn  appears, 

1  In  this  and  the  following  stanzas  we  have  a  picture  of  the  scene 
in  front  of  the  bride's  house,  where  a  throng  is  waiting  impatiently  to 
escort  her  in  torch-light  procession  to  her  husband's  house. 

2  The  bride's  full  name  was  Julia  Aurnncnleia. 


120  CATULLUS 

Fear  not  that  the  sun 
Will  dawn  upon  a  fairer  face,  — 
Nor  in  his  airy,  lofty  race 

Behold  a  lovelier  one.  120 

XXI. 

Mark  and  hear  us,  gentle  bride ; 
Behold  the  torches  nimbly  plied, 

Waving  here  and  there  ; 
Along  the  street  and  in  the  porch, 
See  the  fiery-tressed  torch  125 

Spreads  its  sparkling  hair. 

XXII. 

Like  a  lily,  fair  and  chaste, 
Lovely  bride,  you  shall  be  placed 

In  a  garden  gay, 

A  wealthy  lord's  delight  and  pride ;  iao 

Come  away  then,  happy  bride, 

Hasten,  hence  away ! 

XXIII. 

Mark  and  hear  us  —  he,  your  lord, 
Will  be  true  at  bed  and  board, 

Nor  ever  walk  astray,  i» 

Withdrawing  from  your  lovely  side  ; 
Mark  and  hear  us,  gentle  bride, 

Hasten,  hence  away ! 

XXIV. 

Like  unto  the  tender  vine, 
He  shall  ever  clasp  and  twine,  uo 

Clinging  night  and  day, 


JULIA   AND  MANL1US  121 

Fairly  bound  and  firmly  tied ; 
Come  away  then,  happy  bride, 
Hasten,  hence  away ! 

XXVI. 

Make  ready.     There  I  see  within 
The  bride  is  veil'd ;  the  guests  begin 

To  muster  close  and  slow : 
Trooping  onward  close  about, 
Boys,  be  ready  with  a  shout  —  iw 

"Hymen!  Hymen!  Ho!" 

XXVII. 

Now  begins  the  free  career,1  — 
For  many  a  jest  and  many  a  jeer, 

And  many  a  merry  saw  ; 

Customary  taunts  and  gibes,  uo 

Such  as  ancient  use  prescribes, 

And  immemorial  law. 

xx  vm.2 

"  Some  at  home,  it  must  be  fear'd, 
Will  be  slighted,  and  cashier'd, 

Pride  will  have  a  fall ;  us 

Now  the  favorites'  reign  is  o'er, 
Proud  enough  they  were  before,  — 

Proud  and  nice  withal. 

XXIX. 

"  Full  of  pride  and  full  of  scorn ; 
Now  you  see  them  clipt  and  shorn,  no 

1  The  procession  was  conducted  with  the  greatest  hilarity. 

2  Stanzas  xxviii.-xxxii.  seem  to  have  been  sung  by  a  choir  of  boys, 
who  forecast  the  changes  in  the  bridegroom's   household  after  his 
marriage. 


122  CATULLUS 

Humbler  in  array ; 
Sent  away,  for  fear  of  harm, 
To  the  village  or  the  farm,  — 

Pack'd  in  haste  away. 

XXX. 

"  Other  doings  must  be  done,  175 

Another  empire  is  begun, 

Behold  your  own  domain ! 
Gentle  bride !     Behold  it  there ! 
The  lordly  palace  proud  and  fair :  — 

You  shall  live  and  reign  iso 

XXXI. 

"  In  that  rich  and  noble  house, 
Till  age  shall  silver  o'er  the  brows, 

And  nod  the  trembling  head, 
Not  regarding  what  is  meant, 
Incessant  uniform  assent  IBS 

To  all  that 's  done  or  said. 

XXXII. 

"  Let  the  faithful  threshold  greet, 
With  omens  fair,  those  lovely  feet, 

Lightly  lifted  o'er ;  * 

Let  the  garlands  wave  and  bow  190 

From  the  lofty  lintel's  brow 
That  bedeck  the  door." 

XXXIII. 

See  the  couch  2  with  crimson  dress  — 
Where,  seated  in  the  deep  recess, 

1  The  lifting  of  the  bride  over  the  threshold  of  her  new  home  was 
probably  a  survival  of  the  marriage  by  capture. 

2  The  bridegroom  is  represented  as  reclining  at  a  wedding  supper, 
which  had  been  prepared  in  anticipation  of  the  coming  of  the  bride. 


JULIA  AND  MANLIUS  123 

With  expectation  warm,  us 

The  bridegroom  views  her  coming  near,  — 
The  slender  youth  l  that  led  her  here 

May  now  release  her  arm. 

xxxiv. 

With  a  fix'd  intense  regard 

He  beholds  her  close  and  hard  200 

In  awful  interview : 
Shortly  now  she  must  be  sped 
To  the  chamber  and  the  bed, 

With  attendance  due. 

XXXV. 

Let  the  ancient  worthy  wives,  205 

That  have  pass'd  their  constant  lives 

With  a  single  mate,2 
As  befits  advised  age, 
With  council  and  precaution  sage 

Assist  and  regulate.  ao 

XXXVI. 

She  the  mistress  of  the  band 
Comes  again  with  high  command, 

"  Bridegroom,  go  your  way ; 
There  your  bride  is  in  the  bower, 
Like  a  lovely  lily  flower,  aw 

Or  a  rose  in  May. 

1  Probably  one  of  the  boys  who  had  conducted  her  during  the  pro- 
cession. 

2  Only  matrons  who  had  been  but  once  married  were  allowed  to  as- 
sist. 


124  CATULLUS 

XXXIX. 

"  Ay,  and  you  yourself  in  truth 
Are  a  goodly,  comely  youth,  290 

Proper,  tall,  and  fair ; 
Venus  and  the  graces  too 
Have  befriended  each  of  you 
For  a  lovely  pair." 

XLII. 

Fear  not !  with  the  coming  year, 
The  new  Torquatus  will  be  here, 

Him  we  soon  shall  see 

With  infant  gesture  fondly  seek  xso 

To  reach  his  father's  manly  cheek, 

From  the  mother's  knee. 

xiin. 

With  laughing  eyes  and  dewy  lip, 
Pouting  like  the  purple  tip 

That  points  the  rose's  bud ;  255 

While  mingled  with  the  mother's  grace, 
Strangers  shall  recognize  the  trace 

That  marks  the  Manlian  blood. 

J.  HOOKHAM  FKEBB. 


REMORSE 
(LXXVI.,  w.  10  seq.) 

WHY  longer  keep  thy  heart  upon  the  rack  ? 

Give  to  thy  soul  a  higher,  nobler  aim. 
And  tho'  thou  tear  thy  heart  out,  look  not  back 

In  tears  upon  a  love  that  was  thy  shame. 


LOVE  AND  HATE  125 

'T  is  hard  at  once  to  fling  a  love  away  5 

That  has  been  cherish'd  with  the  faith  of  years. 

'Tis  hard:  but  shrink  not,  flinch  not.     Come  what 

may, 
Crush  every  record  of  its  joys  and  fears. 

0  ye  great  gods,  if  ye  can  pity  feel, 

If  e'er  to  dying  wretch  your  aid  was  given,  w 

See  me  in  agony  before  you  kneel, 

To  beg  this  plague  from  out  my  core  be  driven, 

Which  creeps  in  drowsy  horror  thro'  each  vein, 
Leaves  me  no  thought  from  bitter  anguish  free ; 

1  do  not  ask  that  she  be  kind  again,  is 
Nor  pure :  for  that  can  never,  never  be. 

I  only  crave  the  health  that  once  was  mine, 
Some  little  respite  from  this  sore  disease. 

If  e'er  I  earned  your  mercy,  powers  divine, 

Grant  me  —  O  grant  to  a  sick  heart  some  ease !  20 

SIB  THEODORE  MABTIN. 
R.  Y.  TYKKBLL. 


LOVE  AND  HATE 
(LXXXV.) 

I  LOVE  and  hate.     Ah !  never  ask  why  so ! 
I  hate  and  love  —  and  that  is  all  1  know. 
I  see  't  is  folly,  but  I  feel  't  is  woe. 

W.  S.  LANDOR. 


126  CATULLUS 

AT  HIS   BROTHER'S   GRAVE1 
(CL) 

O'ER  many  a  sea,  o'er  many  a  stranger  land, 
I  bring  this  tribute 2  to  thy  lonely  tomb, 
My  brother  !  and  beside  the  narrow  room 

That  holds  thy  silent  ashes  weeping  stand. 

Vainly  I  call  to  thee.     Who  can  command  <* 

An  answer  forth  from  Orcus'  dreary  gloom  ? 
Oh,  brother,  brother,  life  lost  all  its  bloom, 

When  thou   wert    snatched   from   me   with  pitiless 
hand! 

Woe,  woe  is  me,  that  we  shall  meet  no  more ! 

Meanwhile,  these  gifts  accept,  which  to  the  grave  10 
Of  those  they  loved  in  life  our  sires  of  yore 

With  pious  hand  and  reverential  gave  — 
Gifts  that  are  streaming  with  a  brother's  tears ! 
And  now,  farewell,  and  rest  thee  from  all  fears ! 

Sm  THEODORE  MARTIN. 

1  Catullus'  brother  died  in  the  Troad,  and  was  buried  there. 

2  Offerings  of  wine,  milk,  and  flowers. 


CICERO 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

THE  most  casual  survey  of  the  life  and  works  of  Cicero 
leaves  us  with  a  strong  impression  of  his  wonderful  versa- 
tility. Turning  easily  from  politics  to  literature,  he  found 
time,  amid  the  manifold  activities  of  a  crowded  public 
career,  to  elaborate  and  cast  in  permanent  literary  form 
his  numerous  orations,  to  make  a  close  study  of  the  vari- 
ous systems  of  rhetoric,  to  familiarize  himself  with  the 
tenets  of  the  different  schools  of  philosophy,  to  make  ven- 
tures even  in  the  fields  of  historiography  and  of  poetry,  and 
to  carry  on  a  voluminous  correspondence,  which  has  survived 
as  one  of  our  most  precious  heritages  from  Roman  anti- 
quity. 

He  was  born  in  106  B.  c.  at  Arpinum,  an  ancient  city 
of  the  Volscians,  already  famous  as  the  birthplace  of 
Marius.  His  father  was  of  equestrian  rank,  and  the  fam- 
ily seems  to  have  been  one  of  some  local  importance.  He 
was  educated  at  Rome,  and  his  formative  years  were  spent  hi 
close  contact  with  such  men  as  the  famous  orators  Marcus 
Antonius  and  Lucius  Crassus,  the  poet  Archias,  whose  citizen- 
ship he  afterwards  defended,  Scaevola  the  augur,  Phaedrus 
the  Epicurean  philosopher,  Philo  the  academic,  and  Diodo- 
tus  the  Stoic.  He  had  already  established  his  reputation  as 
an  orator  when  he  went  to  Greece  in  79  to  continue  his 
rhetorical  and  philosophical  studies.  Returning  to  Rome 
two  years  later,  he  resumed  activity  as  an  advocate.  His 
official  career  began  in  75,  when  he  was  sent  to  Sicily  as 
quaestor ;  in  69  he  was  elected  curule  aedile,  in  66  prae- 


128  CICERO 

tor  urbanus,  in  63  consul.  The  year  of  his  consulship 
was  marked  by  the  conspiracy  of  Catiline.  Successful  in 
bringing  about  the  execution  of  some  of  the  most  notorious 
of  the  conspirators,  he  was  himself  subsequently  driven  into 
exile  through  the  machinations  of  enemies,  who  revived  a 
law  according  to  which  any  one  who  ordered  the  execution 
of  a  Roman  citizen  before  he  had  been  condemned  by  the 
people,  was  guilty  of  treason.  He  had  been  in  banishment 
some  ten  months  when  in  August,  57,.  he  was  recalled  by  a 
vote  of  the  comitia  centuriata.  From  51  to  50  he  was  pro- 
consul of  Cilicia.  Meanwhile  the  struggle  between  Caesar 
and  Pompey  had  come  to  a  crisis.  After  long  hesitation 
Cicero  declared  for  Pompey  and  followed  him  to  Dyrra- 
chiuni.  When  the  supremacy  of  the  Caesarians  was  estab- 
lished, he  retired  from  political  life  and  devoted  himself  to 
literature.  After  Caesar's  assassination  he  emerged  once 
more  as  an  opponent  of  Mark  Antony.  This  was  the  im- 
mediate cause  of  his  fall.  He  was  proscribed  by  the  second 
triumvirate,  and  killed  by  their  emissaries  on  the  7th  of 
December,  43. 

"Most  eloquent  of  all  the  descendants  of  Romulus,  as 
many  as  are,  or  have  been,  or  ever  shall  be,"  —  such  is  the 
characterization  of  Cicero  by  Catullus,  and  subsequent  ages 
have  indorsed  his  opinion.  Some  of  his  speeches  are,  it 
is  true,  open  to  criticism,  if  judged  by  the  standard  of  a 
modern  law  court.  He  does  not  always  confine  himself 
strictly  to  the  points  of  law  involved,  or  to  the  facts  of  the 
case  in  hand.  For  example,  in  the  Pro  Archia,  the  pane- 
gyric of  literature  has  a  much  more  conspicuous  place  than 
the  legality  of  the  defendant's  citizenship.  There  is,  too, 
another  criticism  that  is  often  and  perhaps  justly  made, 
namely,  that  even  the  most  impassioned  of  his  utterances 
on  state  questions  show  a  lack  of  that  moral  earnestness 
which  is  so  prominent  a  feature  of  the  orations  of  Demos- 
thenes. Yet  even  with  these  shortcomings,  Cicero's  orations 
are  masterpieces  of  eloquence ;  and  his  vivid  imagination, 
that  finds  play  in  descriptions  of  persons,  places,  and  ac- 


CICERO  129 

tions,  in  similes  and  metaphors  of  almost  infinite  number 
and  variety,  his  extraordinary  keenness,  which  enabled  him 
to  single  out  swiftly  and  effectively  the  weak  points  in  an 
adversary's  position,  his  wide  range  of  information,  his 
marvellous  command  of  language,  and  his  powers  of  invec- 
tive make  a  combination  of  qualities  difficult  to  parallel  in 
the  whole  history  of  oratory. 

His  rhetorical  writings  have  special  value  as  the  produc- 
tions of  one  who,  besides  being  conspicuously  successful  in 
the  practice  of  oratoiy,  had  made  a  long  and  careful  study 
of  the  methods  and  standards  of  the  different  schools. 

It  was  during  years  of  enforced  retirement  that  most  of  his 
philosophical  works  were  written.  They  are,  in  the  main, 
a  working  over  of  Greek  material,  especially  the  treatises 
of  the  post-Aristotelian  philosophers,  and  offer  very  little 
that  is  new  or  original.  Apart  from  their  literary  merit, 
their  most  important  function,  both  in  his  own  and  in  sub- 
sequent ages,  was  in  serving  as  a  medium  for  the  popular- 
ization of  Greek  philosophy.  They  are,  for  the  most  part, 
cast  in  the  form  of  dialogues,  and  deal  with  such  ques- 
tions as  Government,  Law,  the  Theory  of  Knowledge,  the 
Greatest  Good  and  the  Greatest  Evil,  the  Nature  of  the 
Gods,  and  more  practical  problems  of  ethics,  as  in  the 
treatise  on  Moral  Duties  addressed  to  his  son  Marcus. 
Among  the  most  charming  are  the  two  short  pieces  on  Old 
Age,  in  which  we  have  a  masterly  characterization  of  Cato 
Major,  and  on  Friendship,  in  which  Laelius  is  the  principal 
interlocutor. 

Of  greater  interest  are  the  letters,  of  which  we  have  six- 
teen books  addressed  to  his  intimate  friend  Atticus,  sixteen 
to  other  friends  and  members  of  his  household,  three  to  his 
brother  Quintus,  and  one  to  Brutus.  These  furnish  us  with 
a  large  mass  of  material  for  the  study  of  colloquial  Latin, 
and  are,  in  addition,  of  inestimable  value  for  the  light  they 
throw  upon  the  political  history  of  the  time,  and  upon  Cicero's 
character  and  private  life. 


130  CICERO 

THE  SPEECH    FOR  CLUENTIUS l 
(The  second  division  of  the  case,  from  section  164  to  the  end.) 

THERE  you  have,  gentlemen,2  all  that  his  accusers 
have  succeeded  in  raking  together  for  the  whole  case, 
after  eight  years'  preparation,  concerning  the  character 
of  A.  Cluentius,  against  whom,  on  his  trial,  they  would 
fain  stir  up  ill-feeling.  How  trivial  are  the  allegations 
in  themselves,  how  groundless  in  fact,  how  short  to 
answer !  Listen  now  to  what  concerns  the  oath  you 
have  sworn,  to  what  belongs  to  your  court,  to  what  the 
statute  of  poisoning,3  in  obedience,  to  whose  summons 
you  are  here  assembled,  has  imposed  on  you  as  an  ob- 
ligation. I  should  like  to  know  how  brief  the  state- 
ment of  this  case  could  have  been  made,  and  how  much 
that  I  have  said  was  spoken  in  deference  to  my  client's 
wishes,  but  did  not  in  any  way  concern  your  court. 

It  was  alleged  by  the  prosecution  that  A.  Cluentius 
made  away  with  Vibius  Capax4  by  poison.  There  is 

1  The  trial  took  place  in  66  B.  c.  The  defendant,  Aulus  Cluentina 
Habitus,  was  accused  of  having  poisoned  or  caused  to  be  poisoned  (1) 
Vibius  Capaz,  (2)  Balbutius,  (3)  Oppianicus,  his  step-father.  The 
last  was  the  principal  count  of  the  accusation.  The  prosecution  was 
instituted  by  Oppianicns'  son,  but  the  real  instigator  of  the  action  was 
Sassia,  the  wife  of  the  alleged  victim,  and  the  mother  of  the  defendant. 
Eight  years  before,  Oppianicus,  brought  to  trial  by  Cluentius  on  a 
charge  of  attempting  to  poison  him,  had  been  convicted,  and  banished 
from  the  city.  He  died  in  exile,  apparently  in  consequence  of  a  fall 
from  his  horse,  but  according  to  Sassia,  from  poison  administered  by 
an  agent  of  Cluentius.  In  the  first  part  of  the  speech  Cicero  tries  to 
remove  the  prejudice  that  existed  against  his  client  as  a  result  of  the 
feeling  that  he  had  had  some  part  in  the  wholesale  bribery  of  the 
jurors  at  the  trial  of  Oppianicus  in  74.  In  the  second  part  he  deals 
with  the  specific  charges  of  poisoning. 

8  Of  the  jury. 

8  The  fifth  chapter  of  the  Lex  Cornelia  de  Sicariis  et  Venejicis. 

*  Not  otherwise  known. 


THE  SPEECH  FOR   CLUE&TIUS  131 

opportunely  present  in  court  a  most  reputable  and  in 
every  way  worthy  person,  the  Senator  L.  Praetorius, 
whose  hospitality  and  intimate  friendship  this  Vibius 
enjoyed,  with  whom  he  lived  at  Rome  when  he  was 
taken  ill,  and  at  whose  house  he  expired.  I  assert 
that  he  died  intestate,  and  that  the  succession  to  his 
estate  was  by  edict  of  the  praetor  assigned  to  Numerius 
Cluentius,  his  sister's  son,  whom  you  see  here  in  court, 
a  most  honorable  and  eminently  estimable  young  man, 
and  a  Roman  knight  to  boot. 

The  second  charge  of  poisoning  states  that  poison 
was,  at  the  instigation  of  Habitus,1  prepared  for  young 
Oppianicus  2  here,  when  a  large  company  was  break- 
fasting together,  as  is  the  custom  at  Larinum,8  on  the 
occasion  of  his  marriage ;  and  that  when  it  was  being 
offered  him  in  honey  wine,  Balbutius,4  one  of  his 
friends,  intercepted  it  on  its  passage,  drank  it,  and 
instantly  expired.  If  I  were  to  treat  this  matter  as  if 
I  had  an  accusation  to  dispose  of,  I  should  state  at 
greater  length  what  I  am  now  cursorily  mentioning  in 
my  speech. 

What  has  Habitus  ever  done  that  this  monstrous 
deed  should  not  be  thought  quite  foreign  to  his  char- 
acter ?  And  had  he  any  reason  for  being  in  such  fear 
of  Oppianicus,5  seeing  he  could  not  have  said  one  single 
word  in  this  case,  while,  as  you  will  presently  be  made 
aware,  so  long  as  his  mother  lives  my  client  can  never 
be  free  from  prosecution  ?  Was  it  that  he  wanted 
his  case  to  lose  no  element  of  danger,  but  rather 

1  The  defendant.    Habitus  was  his  cognomen. 

2  Son  of  Oppianicus.  • 
8  A  town  near  the  borders  of  Apulia,  where  the  most  important 

personages  of  the  trial  lived. 
*  Mentioned  only  in  this  speech. 
5  The  son. 


132  CICERO 

to  have  a  fresh  charge  added  on  to  it?  What  kind 
of  a  time  was  that  to  choose  for  administering  poison, 
on  such  a  day  and  before  such  a  number  of  people  ? 
By  whom,  moreover,  was  it  offered  ?  Where  was  it 
procured  ?  What  about  the  stoppage  of  the  cup  ? 
And  why  was  it  not  offered  afresh  ?  There  is  much 
that  might  be  said  ;  but  I  shall  not  lay  myself  open  to 
the  charge  of  wishing  to  say  something  while  saying 
nothing.  The  facts  are  their  own  defence.  I  assert 
that  the  youth  spoken  of,  who,  according  to  you,  ex- 
pired immediately  after  draining  the  cup,  did  not  die 
on  that  day  at  all.  It  is  a  monstrous  accusation  and 
a  shameless  falsehood.  I  say  that  when  he  came  to 
the  breakfast  he  was  suffering  from  indigestion  :  he 
indulged  his  appetites  too  freely  at  the  time,  as  young 
men  like  him  will  do  ;  and  he  died  in  consequence  after 
a  few  days'  illness.  Who  will  vouch  for  this  ?  The 
same  man  who  will  vouch  for  his  own  sorrow  —  his 
father  —  the  young  man's  father,  I  repeat.  He  who 
for  his  grief  of  heart  could  have  been  induced  by  a 
very  faint  suspicion  to  come  forward  on  the  other  side 
as  a  witness  against  A.  Cluentius,  gives  him  the  sup- 
port of  his  testimony  instead.  Read  it.  And  do  you, 
sir,1  if  you  please,  stand  up  for  a  little,  and  endure  the 
pang  of  this  indispensable  allusion  ;  on  which  I  shall 
not  linger  any  longer,  since  by  acting  like  the  excellent 
man  you  are,  you  have  not  permitted  your  sorrow  to 
involve  the  guiltless  in  the  calamity  of  a  baseless  ac- 
cusation. 

I  have  still  one  similar  charge  remaining,  gentlemen, 
which  will  enable  you  thoroughly  to  appreciate  the 
truth  of  what  I  said  in  the  beginning  of  my  speech  — 
that  whatever  misfortune  A.  Cluentius  has  seen  during 

1  Balbutius'  father. 


THE  SPEECH  FOR   CLUENTIUS  133 

these  past  years,  whatever  anxiety  and  trouble  he  has 
had  at  this  time,  has  been  entirely  due  to  the  machina- 
tions of  his  mother.  You  allege  that  Oppianicus l  lost 
his  life  by  poison  given  him  in  a  piece  of  bread  by  one 
M.  Asellius,  an  intimate  friend  of  his,  who  acted,  you 
say,  at  the  instigation  of  Habitus.  Now  I  have  first 
to  ask  what  motive  Habitus  had  for  wishing  to  take 
the  life  of  Oppianicus  ?  I  admit,  indeed,  that  they 
had  been  at  enmity.  But  it  is  either  from  feelings  of 
fear  or  of  hatred  that  men  desire  the  death  of  their 
enemies ;  and  what  fear,  I  ask,  could  have  prompted 
Habitus  to  seek  to  perpetrate  such  a  monstrous  crime? 
Was  there  any  reason  why  any  one  should  be  afraid 
of  Oppianicus  now  that  he  had  been  punished  for  his 
crimes  and  banished  the  country  ?  What  had  he  to 
fear  ?  The  attack  of  a  ruined  man  ?  Impeachment 
by  a  felon  ?  Harm  from  the  evidence  of  an  outlaw  ? 
If  again  it  was  because  he  hated  his  enemy  that  Habi- 
tus desired  his  death,  was  he  such  a  fool  as  to  think 
that  the  life  which  Oppianicus  was  then  living  —  con- 
demned, an  outlaw,  forsaken  by  all  —  was  worthy  of 
the  name,  when,  owing  to  the  monstrosity  of  his  char- 
acter, no  one  would  receive  him  into  his  house,  no  one 
would  go  near  him,  no  one  would  speak  to  him,  no  one 
would  look  at  him  ?  And  was  it  to  this  man  that 
Habitus  grudged  his  life  ?  If  he  hated  him  bitterly 
and  with  all  his  heart,  ought  he  not  to  have  wished  him 
to  live  as  long  as  possible  ?  Was  his  enemy  to  hasten 
his  death  —  death  that  in  his  troubles  was  for  him  the 
only  refuge  from  misfortune  ?  Why,  had  he  possessed 
a  spark  of  spirit  or  courage,  he  would  have  died  by 
his  own  hand,  as  many  brave  men  in  like  afflictions 

1  Cicero  now  comes  to  the  principal  charge  against  his  client,  the 
alleged  poisoning  of  his  stepfather,  Oppianicus. 


134  CICERO 

have  done  before  him  ;  and  wherefore  should  his  enemy 
have  wished  to  put  in  his  way  what  he  ought  to  have 
desired  for  himself?  As  it  is,  I  wonder  what  evil 
death  has  brought  him  !  Unless  indeed,  carried  away 
by  idle  tales,  we  imagine  that  he  is  suffering  in  the 
nether  world  the  punishment  of  the  wicked,  and  that 
he  has  fallen  in  with  more  enemies  there  than  he  left 
behind  him  here ;  that  by  the  avenging  furies  of  his 
mother-in-law,1  of  his  wives,  of  his  brother,  and  of  his 
children,  he  has  been  driven  headlong  into  the  place 
where  the  ungodly  have  their  home.  If,  however, 
these  representations  are  untrue,  as  all  must  know  they 
are,  what,  I  ask,  has  death  taken  away  from  him  save 
the  sensation  of  misery  ? 

But  again,  by  whom  was  the  poison  administered  ? 
By  M.  Asellius.  What  connection  had  he  with  Habi- 
tus ?  None ;  in  fact,  as  he  was  very  intimate  with 
Oppianicus,  he  was  more  probably  even  on  bad  terms 
with  him.  Did  he  then  choose  the  person  who,  as  he 
knew,  was  anything  but  friendly  to  himself,  and  who 
was  an  intimate  acquaintance  of  his  intended  victim, 
to  be  the  instrument  of  his  own  crime  and  of  the  jeop- 
ardy of  his  foe  ?  Then  why  do  you,2  whom  filial  piety 
has  prompted  to  undertake  this  prosecution,  suffer  this 
Asellius  to  go  so  long  unpunished  ?  Why  have  you 
not  followed  the  example  of  Habitus,  and  so  secured, 
by  the  conviction  of  the  man  who  proffered  the  poison, 
a  previous  verdict  prejudicing  my  client?  Again  how 
incredible  it  is,  gentlemen,  that  poison  should  have 
been  administered  in  a  piece  of  bread  !  how  unusual ! 
how  strange !  Could  it  diffuse  its  effects  more  readily 

1  Oppianicns  was  said  to  have  poisoned  her  as  well  as  many  others 
of  his  relatives. 

2  Oppianicus'  son. 


THE  SPEECH  FOR   CLUENTIUS  135 

thus  than  in  a  draught,  or  more  widely  when  concealed 
in  a  portion  of  bread  than  if  it  had  been  entirely  dis- 
solved in  a  liquid  ?  Could  it  make  its  way  into  the 
veins  and  into  every  part  of  the  body  more  quickly 
when  taken  in  food  than  when  taken  in  drink? 
Would  it  be  more  likely,  in  the  event  of  discovery,  to 
escape  detection  in  the  bread  than  in  the  draught, 
where  it  would  have  been  so  mixed  as  to  be  altogether 
incapable  of  separation  ?  "  But  he  died  a  sudden 
death."  Even  had  that  been  the  case,  it  would  never- 
theless, owing  to  the  frequency  of  such  occurrences, 
furnish  no  adequate  ground  at  all  for  suspecting  poison  ; 
and  even  if  there  were  room  for  such  a  suspicion  it 
would  nevertheless  fall  on  others  before  my  client. 
But  it  is  just  here  that  men  lie  in  the  most  shameless 
way,  as  you  will  see  if  you  listen  to  the  story  of  his 
death,  and  of  how  after  his  death  a  charge  against 
Habitus  was  raked  up  by  his  mother. 

Wandering  an  outlaw  from  place  to  place,  and  find- 
ing no  entertainment  anywhere,  Oppianicus  betook 
himself  to  C.  Quinctius,1  in  the  Falernian  territory ; 
there  his  illness  began,  and  he  remained  for  a  long  time 
seriously  indisposed.  Sassia,  who  was  with  him,  under 
the  idea  that  the  purity  and  legitimacy  of  the  marriage 
tie  had  been  set  aside  by  her  husband's  conviction,  was 
holding  closer  intercourse  with  Sex.  Albius,  a  lusty 
yeoman  who  used  to  keep  company  with  her,  than  her 
husband,  with  all  his  looseness,  could  have  endured  in 
the  days  of  his  prosperity ;  and  much  of  this  Nico- 
stratus,  a  faithful  slave  of  Oppianicus,  very  inquisi- 
tive and  very  truthful,  is  said  to  have  reported  to 
his  master.  Meanwhile  Oppianicus  began  to  recover. 
Unable  to  put  up  any  longer  with  the  unconscionable 

1  He  had  been  Oppianicus'  counsel. 


136  CICERO 

conduct  of  the  Falernian  yeoman,  he  set  out  for  Rome, 
where  he  used  to  have  some  hired  lodgings  outside  the 
city  gates ;  but  falling  from  his  horse,  he  is  said  to 
have  struck  his  side  violently,  in  bad  health  as  he  was, 
and  to  have  died  a  few  days  after  reaching  the  city  in 
a  fever.  Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  circumstances  of 
his  death.  Either  they  involve  no  suspicion  at  all,  or, 
if  they  do,  it  hangs  upon  some  domestic  tragedy  com- 
prised within  the  four  walls  of  his  house. 

On  his  decease  that  abominable  woman  began  at 
once  to  plot  against  her  son.  She  resolved  to  hold  an 
inquest  on  her  husband's  death.  Having  bought  from 
A.  Rupilius,  who  had  been  the  medical  attendant  of 
Oppianicus,  one  Strato,  —  as  if  forsooth  she  entertained 
the  same  design  as  Habitus  when  he  bought  Diogenes,1 
—  she  gave  out  that  she  intended  to  examine  Strato 
by  torture,  as  well  as  Ascla,  one  of  her  own  slaves  ; 
and  she  further  called  on  young  Oppianicus  to  give  up 
for  like  examination  the  slave  Nicostratus,  whom  she 
suspected  of  having  been  too  communicative  in  his  ex- 
cessive fidelity  to  his  master.  At  that  time  Oppiani- 
cus was  but  a  boy  ;  and  being  told  that  it  was  about 
his  father's  death  that  the  inquest  was  to  be  held,  he 
did  not  dare  refuse,  though  he  believed  the  slave  had 
been  well  disposed  to  his  father  and  was  so  also  to 
himself.  The  friends,  and  guest-friends  of  Oppianicus 
and  of  the  woman  herself  are  called  together  in  large 
numbers,  men  of  reputation  and  of  every  kind  of  dis- 
tinction ;  and  in  the  rigid  inquiry  which  ensues  all 
sorts  of  instruments  of  torture  are  brought  into  requi- 
sition. The  slaves  were  wrought  on  both  by  hope  and 
by  fear  to  make  them  say  something  on  the  rack  ;  but 

1  The  slave  of  Cluentius'  physician,  whose  cooperation  Oppianicus' 
agent  had  tried  to  procure  in  attempting  Cluentius'  life. 


THE  SPEECH  FOR  CLUENTIUS  137 

I  suppose  it  was  the  high  character  of  the  spectators, 
and  the  intensity  of  the  torture  that  led  them  to  hold 
by  the  truth  and  to  protest  that  they  had  nothing  to 
tell.  So  by  the  advice  of  the  friends  the  inquiry  was 
adjourned  for  that  day.  After  a  considerable  interval 
they  are  summoned  a  second  time  ;  the  examination  is 
begun  over  again,  and  all  the  most  powerful  and  ago- 
nizing tortures  are  applied.  Unable  to  stand  it  any 
longer,  the  witnesses  expostulate.  The  bloodthirsty 
and  unnatural  woman  is  beside  herself  with  rage  at  the 
utter  disappointment  of  her  designs  ;  and  though  now 
the  torturer  and  his  very  instruments  were  wearied  out, 
she  refused  to  desist.  Then  one  of  the  spectators,  a 
man  whom  his  country  had  honored  with  high  office, 
and  who  was  personally  of  the  most  exalted  worth,  re- 
marked that  he  saw  her  object  was  not  to  find  out  the 
truth,  but  to  force  them  to  make  some  false  deposition. 
With  this  the  rest  agreed,  and  so  it  was  unanimously 
resolved  that,  in  their  opinion,  the  inquiry  had  gone  on 
long  enough.  Nicostratus  is  given  back  to  Oppiani- 
cus,  and  Sassia  herself  departs  with  her  people  for 
Larinum,  grieved  at  the  thought  that  her  son  would 
now  surely  be  beyond  the  reach  of  danger.  Not  even 
the  fictions  of  suspicion,  she  reflected,  far  less  a  regu- 
lar accusation,  could  touch  him  ;  and  not  even  his 
mother's  secret  plottings,  to  say  nothing  of  the  open 
attack  of  his  enemies,  had  been  able  to  do  him  harm. 
On  her  arrival  at  Larinum,  she  who  had  pretended 
that  she  was  fully  convinced  that  Strato  had  in  time 
past  administered  poison  to  her  husband,  forthwith 
made  him  a  present  of  a  shop  in  the  town,  equipped 
and  fitted  up  for  the  practice  of  medicine. 

For  one,  two,  three  years  Sassia  kept  quiet  ;    it 
seemed  as  if  she  were  praying  and  desiring  that  some 


138  CICERO 

disaster  might  come  upon  her  son,  rather  than  plan- 
ning and  contriving  it.  In  the  interval,  during  the 
consulship  of  Q.  Hortensius  and  Q.  Metellus,  design- 
ing to  draw  him  on  to  this  prosecution,  though  his  at- 
tention was  otherwise  occupied  and  nothing  was  further 
from  his  thoughts,  she  betrothed  to  Oppianicus  here, 
against  his  will,  the  daughter  whom  she  had  borne  to 
her  son-in-law,1  in  the  hope  that  these  matrimonial 
bonds,  as  well  as  the  fetters  of  an  expectant  heir,  would 
put  him  in  her  power.  About  this  very  time  Doctor 
Strato  committed  a  domestic  theft,  aggravated  by 
murder,  under  the  following  circumstances.  There 
was  in  the  house  a  cabinet  which  he  knew  contained 
a  considerable  sum  in  gold  and  silver.  So  by  night 
he  killed  two  of  his  fellow-slaves  in  their  sleep,  and 
flung  them  into  the  fishpond ;  and  then,  cutting  out 
the  bottom  of  the  box  with  his  own  hands,  he  removed 
150,000  sesterces  2  and  five  pounds'  weight  of  the  gold, 
one  of  the  slaves,  a  mere  boy,  being  privy  to  the  deed. 
Next  day  the  theft  was  discovered,  and  suspicion  was 
directed  exclusively  against  the  slaves  who  were  miss- 
ing. But  on  noticing  that  the  bottom  of  the  box  had 
been  cut  out,  men  began  to  ask  by  what  means  it  could 
have  been  done  ;  and  one  of  Sassia's  friends  recollected 
that  he  had  lately  seen  for  sale  at  an  auction,  among 
other  small  effects,  a  bent  crooked  little  saw,  with  teeth 
all  over  it,  by  which  he  thought  the  part  removed  could 
have  been  cut  out.  To  be  brief,  on  inquiry  being  made 
of  the  collectors,3  it  is  discovered  that  the  saw  in  ques- 
tion had  found  its  way  into  the  hands  of  Strato.  This 

1  Sassia  had  induced  A.  Aurins  Melinus,  her  daughter's  husband, 
to  put  away  his  wife,  and  marry  her. 

a  About  $6000. 

8  Those  who  collected  the  money  from  purchasers  at  public  auc- 
tions. 


THE  SPEECH  FOR   CLUENTIUS  139 

aroused  suspicion  ;  and  when  Strato  was  openly  charged 
with  the  crime,  the  boy  who  had  been  his  accomplice 
became  greatly  terrified  and  made  a  clean  breast  of  the 
matter  to  his  mistress.  The  bodies  were  found  in  the 
fishpond.  Strato  was  thrown  into  prison,  and  fur- 
thermore the  money,  though  by  no  means  all  of  it,  is 
discovered  in  his  shop. 

A  criminal  investigation  is  instituted  into  the  theft. 
What  else  can  one  suppose?  Do  you  tell  me  that 
after  the  pillaging  of  the  box,  the  abstraction  of  the 
money  (which  was  not  all  recovered),  and  the  murder 
of  the  slaves,  it  was  concerning  the  death  of  Oppian- 
icus  that  the  inquiry  was  appointed  ?  Can  you  satisfy 
any  one  of  this  ?  Is  there  anything  more  improbable 
that  you  could  have  brought  forward  ?  To  pass  over 
other  points,  was  inquiry  held  into  the  death  of  Oppi- 
anicus  three  years  after  his  decease  ?  Aye,  and  even 
on  this  occasion,  inflamed  by  her  former  hatred,  she 
again  demanded  Nicostratus  for  a  groundless  exami- 
nation. At  first  Oppianicus  refused  ;  but  afterwards, 
when  she  threatened  to  take  away  her  daughter  and 
alter  her  will,  a  most  faithful  slave,  to  humor  a  most 
bloodthirsty  woman,  was  by  him  not  given  up  for  ex- 
amination but  simply  handed  over  to  the  executioner. 

Well,  then,  after  an  interval  of  three  years,  the 
inquiry  into  her  husband's  death  was  reopened.  Who 
were  the  slaves  examined  ?  A  fresh  charge  was  alleged, 
I  suppose,  and  suspicion  was  directed  against  fresh 
persons  —  Strato  and  Nicostratus  ?  What !  had  not 
these  men  been  examined  at  Rome  ?  Can  it  be  that 
you,  Sassia,  with  guilt  now  to  aggravate  the  distemper 
that  had  before  infuriated  your  woman's  heart,  after 
having  held  an  inquiry  at  Rome  at  which  it  had  been 
determined,  on  the  representation  of  T.  Annius,  L. 


140  CICERO 

Rutilius,  P.  Saturius,  and  the  other  honorable  men, 
that  the  thing  had  evidently  gone  on  long  enough  — 
can  it  be,  I  ask,  that  three  years  afterward,  without 
inviting  the  presence,  I  shall  not  say  of  any  man,  or 
you  might  perhaps  retort  that  the  yeoman  was  in 
attendance,  but  of  any  respectable  man,  you  attempted, 
about  the  same  matter  and  on  the  same  persons,  to 
hold  an  inquiry  that  involved  capital  consequences  to 
your  son  ?  Or  do  you  say  (for  a  possible  argument 
occurs  to  me  though  you  must  remember  that  it  has 
not  yet  been  put  forward)  that  it  was  when  investiga- 
tion was  being  made  into  the  theft  that  Strato  made  a 
confession  about  the  poison  ?  In  this  very  way,  gen- 
tlemen, does  it  happen  that  truth  raises  her  head  out 
of  the  depths  to  which  depravity  ofttimes  weighs  her 
down,  and  the  defence  of  innocence  that  has  been 
stifled  breathes  again.  Either  cunning  rogues  have 
no  daring  in  proportion  to  their  invention,  or  they 
whose  audacity  is  conspicuous  and  prominent  have  no 
knavish  arts  by  which  to  back  it.  But  if  craft  were 
daring  or  audacity  cunning,  resistance  would  be  hardly 
possible.  Was  the  theft  not  committed  ?  Why,  nothing 
was  more  notorious  at  Larinum.  Then  did  suspicion 
not  attach  to  Strato  ?  Why,  the  saw  was  his  accuser, 
and  the  boy  who  had  been  his  accomplice  informed  on 
him.  Was  this  not  the  object  of  the  inquiry  ?  What 
other  ground,  then,  was  there  for  holding  it?.  Will 
you  not  have  to  say  what  Sassia  said  more  than  once 
at  the  time  —  that  when  investigation  was  being  made 
about  the  theft  Strato  while  on  the  rack  made  a  state- 
ment about  the  poison  ?  Here  we  have  an  instance  of 
what  I  said  above :  the  woman  has  audacity  enough 
and  to  spare,  but  is  wanting  in  prudence  and  tact.  Sev- 
eral minutes  of  the  depositions  made  at  the  inquiry  are 


THE  SPEECH  FOR   CLUENTIUS  141 

brought  forward  ;  they  have  been  read  aloud  and  com- 
municated to  you,  and  they  are  the  very  minutes  which 
she  said  were  attested  by  the  signature  of  the  witnesses 
at  the  inquiry.  But  in  them  not  a  syllable  about  the 
theft  is  to  be  found.  It  never  occurred  to  her  first  to 
write  out  Strato's  deposition  about  the  theft,  and  after- 
wards to  tack  on  some  statement  about  the  poison 
which  might  seem  not  to  have  been  elicited  by  direct 
questioning,  but  to  have  been  wrung  from  him  in 
his  agony.  The  subject  of  the  inquiry  is  the  theft. 
The  suspicion  of  poisoning  had  been  done  away  with 
by  the  previous  inquiry,  as,  indeed,  the  woman  herself 
had  admitted ;  for  after  deciding  at  Rome,  on  the 
representation  of  her  friends,  that  it  had  gone  far 
enough,  she  had  during  the  three  years  that  followed 
shown  a  fondness  for  this  Strato  above  all  her  slaves, 
holding  him  in  high  esteem,  and  conferring  on  him 
every  mark  of  favor.  Well,  then,  the  inquiry  was  be- 
ing made  about  the  theft  —  the  theft,  namely,  which 
beyond  all  dispute  he  had  committed  —  did  he  with- 
out saying  a  word  upon  the  subject  of  that  inquiry 
make  a  statement  at  once  about  the  poison  ?  If  he 
did  not  speak  of  the  theft  when  one  might  have  ex- 
pected him  to  do  so,  did  he  never,  even  at  the  end,  or 
in  the  middle,  or  at  least  in  some  part  or  other  of  the 
inquiry,  say  a  single  word  about  it  ? 

You  see  now,  gentlemen,  that  with  the  same  hand 
with  which,  if  opportunity  were  given  her,  she  would 
gladly  slay  her  son,  this  abominable  woman  has  forged 
her  account  of  the  inquiry.  And  even  with  regard  to 
it,  can  you  mention  the  name  of  any  single  individual 
who  witnessed  it  with  his  hand  and  seal  ?  You  will 
find  no  one,  except  perhaps  a  person  l  whose  charac- 

1  The  Falernian  yeoman,  Sassia's  paramour. 


142  CICERO 

ter  is  such  that  I  should  prefer  his  being  brought 
forward  to  no  name  being  mentioned  at  all.  What 
say  you,  T.  Aecius  ? l  Are  you  actually  bringing 
before  a  court  a  capital  charge,  a  criminal  informa- 
tion, a  written  instrument  involving  the  fortunes  of 
another,  without  giving  the  name  of  any  voucher  for 
that  instrument,  of  any  one  who  sealed  it,  of  any 
one  who  witnessed  its  signature  ?  And  will  this  hon- 
orable court  admit  the  weapon  which  you  have  drawn 
forth  from  a  mother's  bosom  for  the  ruin  of  a  most 
guiltless  son  ?  But  enough ;  the  document  has  no 
weight.  As  to  the  inquiry  itself,  however,  why  was 
it  not  reserved  for  the  court  ?  why  not  for  the  friends 
and  guest-friends  of  Oppianicus,  whom  she  had  in- 
vited to  be  present  on  the  former  occasion  ?  why  not 
at  least  for  the  existing  conjuncture?  What  was  done 
with  these  men?  I  ask  you,  Oppianicus,  to  say 
what  happened  to  your  slave,  Nicostratus.  You  were 
shortly  about  to  impeach  my  client,  and  you  ought 
therefore  to  have  brought  him  to  Rome,  allowed  him 
to  give  information,  aye,  and  preserved  him  in  safety 
for  examination,  for  this  court,  and  for  this  occasion. 
As  to  Strato,  gentlemen,  I  have  to  inform  you  that 
he  was  crucified  after  having  had  his  tongue  cut  out, 
as  is  known  to  every  one  at  Larinum.  It  was  not  her 
own  evil  conscience  that  the  distraught  woman  feared, 
it  was  not  the  detestation  of  the  townsmen,  it  was 
not  the  public  scandal.  Just  as  if  every  one  were  not 
to  be  a  witness  to  her  crime,  what  she  dreaded  was 
lest  the  dying  words  of  a  slave  should  testify  against 
her. 

Gracious  Heaven  !  what  a  prodigy  have  we  in  this 
woman !     Where  in  the  whole  world  can  we  point  to 

1  He  visa  conducting  the  prosecution. 


THE  SPEECH  FOR   CLUENTIUS  143 

such  a  monster  of  iniquity,  where  to  such  a  hateful 
and  horrible  abomination  as  having  ever  had  its  birth  ? 
Surely  you  see  now,  gentlemen,  that  it  was  only  under 
constraint  of  the  weightiest  reasons  that  I  spoke  as  I 
did  of  a  mother  at  the  beginning  of  my  speech.  Yes, 
there  is  no  form  of  evil  or  of  crime  that  she  has  not 
from  the  first  desired,  longed  for,  contrived,  and  put  into 
execution  against  her  son.  I  say  nothing  of  her  first 
outrageous  lust,  I  say  nothing  of  her  accursed  union 
with  her  son-in-law,  I  say  nothing  of  how  a  mother's 
passion  drove  a  daughter  from  her  husband's  arms ;  all 
this,  though  it  brought  dishonor  on  the  whole  family,  did 
not  go  so  far  as  to  put  my  client  in  danger  of  his  life. 
I  do  not  arraign  her  second  marriage  with  Oppianicus, 
by  contracting  which  —  but  not  till  he  had  given  her 
his  children's  lives  in  pledge l  —  she  plunged  a  family 
in  mourning  for  the  death  of  those  who  should  have 
been  her  step-sons.  I  pass  by  the  fact  that,  though  she 
knew  that  it  was  Oppianicus  who  had  procured  the 
proscription  and  assassination  of  A.  Aurius,  whose 
mother-in-law  once  and  whose  wife  she  herself  but  a 
short  time  before  had  been,  she  chose  for  herself  a 
habitation  and  a  home  in  which  the  tokens  of  her  hus- 
band's death  and  his  despoiled  estate  would  day  by 
day  be  present  to  her  eyes.  My  first  charge  relates  to 
the  criminal  attempt  at  poisoning  by  Fabricus,2  which 
has  now  at  length  been  brought  to  light.  What  was 
even  at  that  early  date  matter  of  suspicion  to  men  in 
general,  and  of  incredulity  to  my  client,  now  appears 
evident  and  obvious  to  all :  the  mother  cannot  of  course 
have  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  that  attempt.  Oppi- 

1  Oppianicus  was  charged  with  having  removed  his  widower's  en- 
cumbrance on  Sassia's  request. 

2  Oppianicus'  agent  in  the  attempt  on  Clueiitius'  life. 


144  CICERO 

anicus  contrived  nothing  apart  from  the  woman's 
cooperation.  Had  he  acted  alone,  she  would  surely 
have  left  him  after  the  detection  of  his  design,  and  left 
him  not  as  one  separating  herself  from  a  wicked  hus- 
band, but  as  fleeing  from  a  most  ruthless  foe  ;  she  would 
surely  have  turned  her  back  for  all  time  upon  a  house 
that  was  a  very  sink  of  iniquity.  But  so  far  was  she 
from  doing  this  that  from  that  time  forth  she  lost  no 
opportunity  of  hatching  some  plot  or  other,  devoting 
all  her  powers  of  thought  every  day  and  every  night 
to  the  destruction  of  the  son  of  her  bosom.  And  first, 
by  way  of  nerving  Oppianicus  there  for  the  prosecu- 
tion of  her  son,  she  bound  him  to  herself  by  gifts  and 
presents,  bestowing  on  him  her  daughter's  hand  in 
marriage,  and  holding  out  the  hope  of  succession  to 
her  estate. 

Thus  whereas  in  most  cases,  when  unaccustomed 
enmity  has  sprung  up  among  kinsmen,  we  see  divorces 
and  the  severing  of  relationships  ensue,  this  woman 
thought  that  no  one  would  be  strong  enough  for  the 
prosecution  of  her  son  except  one  who  had  previously 
taken  his  sister 1  to  wife.  New  relationships  often 
lead  others  to  lay  aside  long-standing  animosities ;  she 
thought  that  in  the  bond  of  relationship  she  would 
have  a  pledge  that  would  give  a  backbone  to  her  feud. 
Nor  did  she  bestow  all  her  pains  on  securing  a  prose- 
cutor for  her  son  ;  she  also  pondered  with  what  wea- 
pons she  could  furnish  him.  To  this  end  it  was  that 
by  means  of  threats  and  promises  alike  she  worked 
upon  the  slaves  ;  to  this  end  did  she  hold  those  ever- 
lasting and  more  barbarous  inquests  on  the  death  of 
Oppianicus,  which  were  at  last  brought  to  a  close  not 
by  any  moderation  on  her  part,  but  by  the  influence 

1  Auria,  ( 'liit-nt ins'  half-sister. 


THE  SPEECH  FOR  CLUENTIUS  145 

of  her  friends.  In  the  same  inquiry  originated  the 
inquiries  held  three  years  afterward  at  Larinum ;  in 
the  same  distraction  of  mind  the  forgery  of  the  depo- 
sitions there  made ;  in  the  same  frenzy  also  the  exe- 
crable amputation  of  Strato's  tongue.  She  it  was,  in 
short,  who  found  and  got  ready  all  the  materials  of 
this  elaborate  indictment.  And  after  dispatching 
thus  equipped  to  Rome  a  prosecutor  for  her  son,  she 
herself  tarried  awhile  at  Larinum  in  order  to  seek  out 
and  hire  witnesses ;  but  on  being  informed  of  the  near 
approach  of  the  defendant's  trial,  she  hastened  hither 
with  all  speed,  for  fear  that  the  prosecution  might 
fail  in  diligence,  or  else  that  the  witnesses  might  want 
money,  or  that  she  might  perchance  miss  seeing  this 
man's  garb  of  mourning,1  and  his  unkempt  appear- 
ance, a  spectacle  so  dear  to  her  mother's  heart. 

But  what,  think  you,  were  the  circumstances  which 
attended  her  journey  to  the  capital?  I  live  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Aquinum  and  Fabrateria,2  and  from 
many  citizens  I  have  heard  and  ascertained  the  facts. 
What  crowds  ran  together  in  these  towns !  What 
loud  groans  were  uttered  alike  by  the  men  and  by 
the  women  !  The  idea  of  a  lady  of  Larinum  actually 
setting  out  for  Rome  from  the  very  shores  of  the  Adri- 
atic, with  a  crowd  of  attendants  and  a  store  of  money, 
in  order  to  be  able  more  readily  to  compass  in  a  capi- 
tal trial  the  ruin  and  destruction  of  her  son  !  There 
was,  I  might  almost  say,  not  a  man  among  them  but 
thought  that  every  spot  on  which  she  had  set  her 
foot  would  require  to  be  freed  from  pollution  ;  not  a 
man  but  thought  that  the  footprints  of  that  crime- 
stained  mother  were  a  profanation  to  the  earth,  the 

1  Accused  persons  wore  a  dark-colored  toga. 

2  Towns  in  Latium,  not  far  from  Arpinum,  Cicero's  birthplace. 


146  CICERO 

mother  of  all.  So  in  no  town  was  she  permitted  to 
make  a  halt.  Inns  were  there  in  abundance,  but  no- 
where was  there  found  a  host  who  did  not  shun  the 
contagion  of  her  presence.  She  preferred  to  intrust 
herself  to  the  solitude  of  night  rather  than  to  any 
city  or  hostelry.  And  thinks  she  now  that  any  one  of 
us  are  unaware  of  her  schemes,  her  intrigues,  her  daily 
stratagems  ?  Full  well  we  know  those  whom  she  has 
approached,  to  whom  she  has  promised  money,  whose 
honesty  she  has  attempted  to  shake  by  proffers  of 
reward  ;  aye,  and  we  have  heard  of  her  nightly  sacri- 
fices, which  she  imagines  are  a  secret,  of  her  impious 
prayers  and  her  abominable  vows,  by  which  she  makes 
the  very  gods  in  heaven  witnesses  to  her  crime ;  not 
knowing  that  it  is  piety,  and  holy  fear,  and  the  prayers 
of  the  righteous  that  avail  to  turn  their  hearts,  not 
the  defilements  of  superstition,  nor  the  blood  of  vic- 
tims sacrificed  for  the  furtherance  of  crime.  Her 
unnatural  frenzy  I  am  confident  the  immortal  gods 
have  spurned  from  their  altars  and  their  shrines. 

Do  you,  gentlemen,  whom  fortune  has  appointed  to 
play  the  part  of  another  Providence  to  A.  Cluentius 
here  for  all  the  rest  of  his  life,  ward  off  from  the  per- 
son of  her  son  the  monstrous  inhumanity  of  this  mother. 
Men  have  often  on  the  bench  pardoned  the  offences  of 
children  out  of  compassion  for  their  parents  ;  do  not 
you,  we  pray  you,  sacrifice  to  his  mother's  unnatural 
cruelty  the  life  this  man  has  most  virtuously  led,  es- 
pecially as  you  may  see  a  whole  township  arrayed  in 
evidence  against  her.  You  must  know,  gentlemen, 
that  all  the  men  of  Larinum  —  incredible  though  it 
is,  I  say  it  in  all  truth  —  all  who  were  able  made  the 
journey  to  Rome,  to  give  my  client,  so  far  as  in  them 
lay,  the  support  of  their  sympathy  and  numbers  in 


THE  SPEECH  FOR  CLUENTIUS  147 

this  hour  of  danger.  Their  town  has  at  this  time  been 
committed  to  the  care  of  the  women  and  children, 
and  is  at  present  under  the  protection,  not  of  its  or- 
dinary defenders,  but  only  of  the  general  peace  which 
prevails  in  Italy.  And  yet  even  they,  no  less  than 
these  whom  you  see  here  in  court,  are  kept  day  and 
night  in  suspense  and  disquietude  about  the  issue  of 
this  trial.  For  in  their  view  it  is  not  on  the  fortunes 
of  a  single  townsman  that  you  are  about  to  give  ver- 
dict, but  on  the  standing  of  the  whole  municipality, 
on  its  credit,  and  the  whole  body  of  its  interests. 
Gentlemen,  the  defendant  is  conspicuous  for  devotion 
to  the  public  good  of  his  town,  for  kindliness  to  the  in- 
habitants individually,  for  righteousness  and  conscien- 
tiousness towards  all  men  ;  and  he  moreover  maintains 
in  his  own  circle  the  position  of  high  rank  bequeathed 
him  by  his  forefathers  in  such  a  way  as  to  emulate 
their  gravity,  their  force  of  character,  their  popularity, 
their  generosity.  And  therefore  do  they  in  the  name 
of  the  community  pronounce  his  eulogy  in  language 
which  not  only  expresses  their  deliberate  opinion  of 
his  character,  but  bears  witness  also  to  their  solicitude 
and  sorrow;  and  while  this  eulogy  is  being  read  I 
must  ask  you  who  have  brought  it  to  stand  up.  From 
the  tears  of  those  present,  gentlemen,  you  may  infer 
that  when  they  passed  this  decree  every  member  of 
the  town  council  was  also  in  tears.  Again  as  to  the 
neighbors,  what  enthusiasm,  what  incredible  good- 
will, what  anxiety  do  they  display !  They  have  not 
sent  in  writing  the  panegyric  they  decreed,  but  have 
instructed  men  of  the  highest  reputation,  well  known 
to  all  of  us,  to  be  present  here  in  large  numbers  and 
to  pronounce  his  eulogy  in  person.  Illustrious  citizens 
of  Ferentum l  are  here  in  court,  and  men  of  the  Mar- 
1  In  Apulia. 


148  CICERO 

rucini 1  no  less  distinguished  than  they  ;  from  Teanum 
Apulum  2  and  from  Luceria 2  you  see  honorable  Ro- 
man knights  come  to  speak  his  praise  ;  from  Bovia- 
num  and  from  the  length  and  breadth  of  Samnium 
most  flattering  panegyrics  have  been  forwarded,  and 
men  of  the  highest  consideration  and  renown  have 
also  come  in  person.  And  as  to  those  who  have  pro- 
perty, business  avocations,  or  grazing  stock  in  the  ter- 
ritory of  Larinum,  honorable  men  of  the  highest  dis- 
tinction, it  were  hard  to  speak  of  their  solicitude  and 
anxiety.  Few,  I  think,  are  loved  by  one  as  this  man 
is  by  them  all.  How  sorry  I  am  that  L.  Volusienus,  a 
man  of  the  greatest  distinction  and  worth,  is  not  pre- 
sent at  this  trial !  Would  that  P.  Helvidius  Ruf us, 
an  eminently  illustrious  Roman  knight,  could  be  here 
when  I  speak  his  name !  Sleepless  day  and  night  in 
my  client's  interests,  while  he  was  instructing  me  in  the 
case  he  fell  seriously  and  dangerously  ill ;  and  yet  even 
in  his  illness  he  is  as  anxious  about  the  defendant's 
safety  as  about  his  own  recovery.  His  evidence  and 
eulogy  will  make  you  aware  of  no  less  enthusiasm  on 
the  part  of  that  excellent  and  honorable  senator  Cn. 
Tudicus.  Of  you,  P.  Volumnius,  I  speak  in  the  same 
expectation  but  with  greater  reserve,  inasmuch  as  you 
are  on  the  jury  in  this  case.  To  be  brief,  the  whole 
neighborhood,  I  tell  you,  cherishes  the  greatest  good- 
will towards  the  defendant.  Their  unanimous  enthu- 
siasm, solicitude,  and  painstaking  care  ;  my  exertions 
—  and  I  have  pleaded  this  case  from  beginning  to  end 
single-handed,  as  I  have  long  been  wont  to  do ;  and 
also  the  justice  and  clemency  of  this  court,  are  com- 
bated by  one  woman,  the  defendant's  mother.  And 

1  Their  territory  extended  along  the  right  bank  of  the  river  Ater- 
IIHIS  to  the  Adriatic  Sea. 
-  In  Apulia. 


THE  SPEECH  FOR  CLUENTIUS  149 

what  kind  of  mother  ?  You  see  how  she  is  carried 
along  in  all  the  blindness  of  cruelty  and  crime.  No 
depths  of  dishonor  have  ever  proved  a  hindrance  to 
her  lust.  In  the  depravity  of  her  mind  she  has  over- 
turned in  the  foulest  manner  all  the  binding  ordi- 
nances of  society,  too  infatuated  to  be  called  a  human 
being,  too  outrageous  for  the  name  of  woman,  too  un- 
natural for  that  of  mother.  Aye,  and  she  has  ever 
confounded  the  designations  of  kinship  as  well  as  the 
name  and  ordinances  of  nature.  Her  son-in-law's 
wife,  a  step-mother  to  her  son,  the  mistress  of  her 
daughter's  husband,  she  has,  in  a  word,  sunk  so  low 
as  to  have  nothing  left  her  in  the  likeness  of  man 
except  her  external  form. 

Now  by  your  hate  of  crime,  gentlemen,  debar  a 
mother  from  access  to  the  life-blood  of  her  son.  In- 
flict on  her  who  gave  him  birth  the  pang,  incredible  as 
it  is,  of  seeing  the  deliverance  and  triumph  of  her  off- 
spring; suffer  the  mother  to  depart  vanquished  by 
your  justice,  and  so  deprive  her  of  the  joy  of  being  be- 
reft of  her  child.  And  again,  by  that  love  which,  if 
true  to  your  nature,  you  have  for  honor,  truth,  and 
virtue,  raise  at  length  from  the  ground  the  suppliant 
now  before  you,  after  so  many  years  of  groundless 
prejudice  and  peril.  Now  for  the  first  time  since  the 
avaricious  conduct  of  others  fanned  that  prejudice  into 
flame  has  he  begun  to  take  heart,  and  in  reliance  on 
your  impartiality  in  some  degree  to  breathe  again,  for- 
getting fear.  His  all  is  in  your  hands ;  many  there 
are  who  desire  his  deliverance,  but  you  alone  are  able 
to  secure  it.  Habitus  entreats  you,  gentlemen,  and 
beseeches  you  with  tears  not  to  sacrifice  him  to  the 
prejudice  which  in  courts  of  law  ought  to  be  of  no 
avail ;  not  to  the  mother  whose  vows  and  prayers  you 


150  CICERO 

must  put  far  from  your  minds ;  not  to  the  execrable 
Oppianicus,  a  convicted  criminal  now  in  his  grave. 
But  if  at  this  trial  the  stroke  of  some  disaster  lay  my 
guiltless  client  low,  then  will  he  verily  in  his  wretched- 
ness —  if  indeed  he  continue  to  live,  which  it  will  be 
hard  for  him  to  do  —  often  bitterly  lament  that  the 
poison  of  Fabricus  was  ever  detected.  For  had  it  not 
been  exposed  at  the  time  it  would  have  been  to  this 
most  miserable  man,  not  poison,  but  the  antidote  of 
his  many  sorrows ;  aye,  and  his  mother  might  per- 
chance have  followed  in  his  funeral  procession,  counter- 
feiting grief  for  the  death  of  her  son.  But  as  it  is 
what  good  will  have  been  done,  save  that  it  will  seem 
as  if  his  life  were  preserved  only  for  affliction  out  of 
the  midst  of  deathf ul  snares  —  only  that  in  death  he 
might  be  robbed  of  the  sepulchre  of  his  fathers  ?  Long 
enough  has  he  been  in  trouble,  gentlemen  ;  years 
enough  has  he  suffered  from  prejudice.  None  save 
her  who  gave  him  birth  was  ever  so  bitter  against  him 
but  that  we  may  believe  his  vengeance  is  now  fully 
satisfied.  Do  you  who  are  just  towards  all  men,  who 
tenderly  sustain  all  those  that  are  cruelly  assailed, 
preserve  A.  Cluentius.  Restore  him  to  his  townsmen 
unharmed ;  give  him  back  to  the  friends,  the  neigh- 
bors, the  guest-friends  of  whose  zeal  for  him  you  are 
witnesses ;  lay  him  under  an  eternal  obligation  to  your- 
selves and  your  children.  To  you,  gentlemen,  this  ap- 
pertains, to  your  dignity,  your  clemency  ;  with  justice 
do  we  require  you  to  deliver  at  last  from  his  distresses 
a  most  worthy  and  altogether  guiltless  man,  and  one 
who  to  very  many  people  is  most  beloved  and  dear. 
Thus  will  you  give  all  men  to  know  that,  while  preju- 
dice may  find  a  place  in  public  meetings,  truth  reigns 

supreme  in  courts  of  law. 

W.  PETERSON. 


FRIENDSHIP  151 

FRIENDSHIP  1 
(De  Atnicitia,  VI.-IX.) 

Laelius.  Friendship  is  nothing  else  than  entire 
fellow-feeling  as  to  all  things,  human  and  divine,  with 
mutual  good-will  and  affection  ;  and  I  doubt  whether 
anything  better  than  this,  wisdom  alone  excepted,  has 
been  given  to  man  by  the  immortal  gods.  Some  pre- 
fer riches  to  it ;  some,  sound  health ;  some,  power ; 
some,  posts  of  honor ;  many,  even  sensual  gratification. 
This  last  properly  belongs  to  beasts  ;  the  others  are 
precarious  and  uncertain,  dependent  not  on  our  own 
choice  so  much  as  on  the  caprice  of  Fortune.  Those, 
indeed,  who  regard  virtue  as  the  supreme  good  are  en- 
tirely in  the  right ;  but  it  is  virtue  itself  that  produces 
and  sustains  friendship,  nor  without  virtue  can  friend- 
ship by  any  possibility  exist.  In  saying  this,  however, 
I  would  interpret  virtue  in  accordance  with  our  habits 
of  speech  and  of  life  ;  not  defining  it,  as  some  philoso- 
phers do,  by  high-sounding  words,  but  numbering  oil 
the  list  of  good  men  those  who  are  commonly  so  re- 
garded, —  the  Pauli,  the  Catos,  the  Galli,  the  Scipios, 
the  Phili.  Mankind  in  general  are  content  with  these. 
Let  us  then  leave  out  of  the  account  such  good  men  as 
are  nowhere  to  be  found.  Among  such  good  men  as 
there  really  are,  friendship  has  more  advantages  than 
I  can  easily  name.  In  the  first  place,  as  Ennius 
says  :  — 

"  How  can  life  be  worth  living,  if  devoid 
Of  the  calm  trust  reposed  by  friend  in  friend  ? 

1  This  dialogue  is  part  of  the  output  of  the  years  45  and  44,  which 
Cicero  devoted  almost  exclusively  to  literature.  The  interlocutors  are 
Laelius,  the  intimate  friend  of  Scipio  the  younger,  and  his  two  sons-in- 
law  Fannns  and  Scaevola. 


152  CICERO 

What  sweeter  joy  than  in  the  kindred  soul, 
Whose  converse  differs  not  from  self-communion  ?  " 

How  could  you  have  full  enjoyment  of  prosperity,  un- 
less with  one  whose  pleasure  in  it  was  equal  to  your 
own  ?  Nor  would  it  be  easy  to  bear  adversity,  unless 
with  the  sympathy  of  one  on  whom  it  rested  more 
heavily  than  on  your  own  soul.  Then,  too,  other  ob- 
jects of  desire  are,  in  general,  adapted,  each  to  some 
specific  purpose,  —  wealth,  that  you  may  use  it ; 
power,  that  you  may  receive  the  homage  of  those  around 
you  ;  posts  of  honor,  that  you  may  obtain  reputation  ; 
sensual  gratification,  that  you  may  live  in  pleasure  ; 
health,  that  you  may  be  free  from  pain,  and  may  have 
full  exercise  of  your  bodily  powers  and  faculties.  But 
friendship  combines  the  largest  number  of  utilities. 
Wherever  you  turn,  it  is  at  hand.  No  place  shuts  it 
out.  It  is  never  unseasonable,  never  annoying.  Thus, 
as  the  proverb  says,  "  You  cannot  put  water  or  fire  to 
more  uses  than  friendship  serves."  I  am  not  now 
speaking  of  the  common  and  moderate  type  of  friend- 
ship, which  yet  yields  both  pleasure  and  profit,  but  of 
true  and  perfect  friendship,  like  that  which  existed  in 
the  few  instances  that  are  held  in  special  remembrance. 
Such  friendship  at  once  enhances  the  lustre  of  pros- 
perity, and  by  dividing  and  sharing  adversity  lessens 
its  burden. 

Moreover,  while  friendship  comprises  the  greatest 
number  and  variety  of  beneficent  offices,  it  certainly 
has  this  special  prerogative,  that  it  lights  up  a  good 
hope  for  the  time  to  come,  and  thus  preserves  the 
minds  that  it  sustains  from  imbecility  or  prostration  in 
misfortune.  For  he,  indeed,  who  looks  into  the  face 
of  a  friend  beholds,  as  it  were,  a  copy  of  himself.  Thus 
the  absent  are  present,  and  the  poor  are  rich,  and  the 


FRIENDSHIP  153 

weak  are  strong,  and  —  what  seems  stranger  still  — 
the  dead  are  alive,  such  is  the  honor,  the  enduring  re- 
membrance, the  longing  love,  with  which  the  dying  are 
followed  by  the  living  ;  so  that  the  death  of  the  dying 
seems  happy,  the  life  of  the  living  full  of  praise.  But 
if  from  the  condition  of  human  life  you  were  to  exclude 
all  kindly  union,  no  house,  no  city,  could  stand,  nor, 
indeed,  could  the  tillage  of  the  field  survive.  If  it  is 
not  perfectly  understood  what  virtue  there  is  in  friend- 
ship and  concord,  it  may  be  learned  from  dissension 
and  discord.  For  what  house  is  so  stable,  what  state 
so  firm,  that  it  cannot  be  utterly  overturned  by  hatred 
and  strife  ?  Hence  it  may  be  ascertained  how  much 
good  there  is  in  friendship.  It  is  said  that  a  certain 
philosopher  l  of  Agrigentum  sang  in  Greek  verse  that 
it  is  friendship  that  draws  together  and  discord  that 
parts  all  things  which  subsist  in  harmony,  and  which 
have  their  various  movements  in  nature  and  in  the 
whole  universe.  The  worth  and  power  of  friendship, 
too,  all  mortals  understand,  and  attest  by  their  ap- 
proval in  actual  instances.  Thus,  if  there  comes  into 
conspicuous  notice  an  occasion  on  which  a  friend  in- 
curs or  shares  the  perils  of  his  friend,  who  can  fail  to 
extol  the  deed  with  the  highest  praise?  What  shouts 
filled  the  whole  theatre  at  the  performance  of  the  new 
play  of  my  guest  and  friend  Marcus  Pacuvius,  when 

—  the  king  not  knowing  which  of  the  two  was  Orestes  2 

—  Pylades  said  that  he  was  Orestes,  while  Orestes 
persisted  in  asserting  that  he  was,  as  in  fact  he  was, 
Orestes  !     The  whole  assembly  rose  in  applause  at  this 

1  Empedocles,  born  about  485  B.  c. 

2  The  friendship  of  Orestes  and  Pylades  was  proverbial.     On  this 
occasion  each  insisted  that  he  should  be  the  one  to  suffer.     The  king 
referred  to  is  Thoas,  of  the  Tauric  Chersonesus. 


154  CICERO 

mere  fictitious  representation.  What  may  we  suppose 
that  they  would  have  done,  had  the  same  thing  oc- 
curred in  real  life  ?  In  that  case  Nature  herself  dis- 
played her  power,  when  men  recognized  that  as  rightly 
done  by  another,  which  they  would  not  have  had  the 
courage  to  do  themselves.  Thus  far,  to  the  utmost  of 
my  ability,  as  it  seems  to  me,  I  have  given  you  my 
sentiments  concerning  friendship.  If  there  is  more 
to  be  said,  as  I  think  that  there  is,  endeavor  to  obtain 
it,  if  you  see  fit,  of  those  who  are  wont  to  discuss  such 
subjects. 

Fannius.  But  we  would  rather  have  it  from  you. 
Although  I  have  often  consulted  those  philosophers 
also,  and  have  listened  to  them  not  unwillingly,  yet 
the  thread  of  your  discourse  differs  somewhat  from 
that  of  theirs. 

Scaevola.  You  would  say  so  all  the  more,  Fannius, 
had  you  been  present  in  Scipio's  garden  at  that  dis- 
cussion about  the  republic,  and  heard  what  an  advo- 
cate of  justice  he  showed  himself  in  answer  to  the 
elaborate  speech  of  Philus. 

Fannius.  It  was  indeed  easy  for  the  man  preemi- 
nently just  to  defend  justice. 

Scaevola.  As  to  friendship,  then,  is  not  its  defence 
easy  for  him  who  has  won  the  highest  celebrity 1  on 
the  ground  of  friendship  maintained  with  preeminent 
faithfulness,  consistency,  and  probity  ? 

Laeliva.  This  is,  indeed,  the  employing  of  force  ;  for 
what  matters  the  way  in  which  you  compel  me  ?  You 
at  any  rate  do  compel  me  ;  for  it  is  both  hard  and 
unfair  not  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  one's  sons- 
in-law,  especially  in  a  case  that  merits  favorable  con- 
sideration. 

1  He  refers  to  the  great  friendship  of  Laelius  and  Scipio. 


FRIENDSHIP  155 

In  reflecting,  then,  very  frequently  on  friendship, 
the  foremost  question  that  is  wont  to  present  itself  is, 
whether  friendship  is  craved  on  account  of  conscious 
infirmity  and  need,  so  that  in  bestowing  and  receiving 
the  kind  offices  that  belong  to  it  each  may  have  that 
done  for  him  by  the  other  which  he  is  least  able  to 
do  for  himself,  reciprocating  services  in  like  manner ; 
or  whether,  though  this  relation  of  mutual  benefit  is 
the  property  of  friendship,  it  has  yet  another  cause, 
more  sacred  and  more  noble,  and  derived  more  genu- 
inely from  the  very  nature  of  man.  Love,  which  in 
our  language  gives  name  l  to  friendship,  bears  a  chief 
part  in  unions  of  mutual  benefit ;  for  a  revenue  of  ser- 
vice is  levied  even  on  those  who  are  cherished  in  pre- 
tended friendship,  and  are  treated  with  regard  from 
interested  motives.  But  in  friendship  there  is  nothing 
feigned,  nothing  pretended,  and  whatever  there  is  in 
it  is  both  genuine  and  spontaneous.  Friendship, 
therefore,  springs  from  nature  rather  than  from  need, 
—  from  an  inclination  of  the  mind  with  a  certain 
consciousness  of  love  rather  than  from  calculation  of 
the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  it.  Its  real  quality 
may  be  discerned  even  in  some  classes  of  animals, 
which  up  to  a  certain  time  so  love  their  offspring,  and 
are  so  loved  by  them,  that  the  mutual  feeling  is  plainly 
seen, —  a  feeling  which  is  much  more  clearly  manifest 
in  man,  first,  in  the  affection  which  exists  between  chil- 
dren and  parents,  and  which  can  be  dissolved  only  by 
atrocious  guilt ;  and  in  the  next  place,  in  the  springing 
up  of  a  like  feeling  of  love,  when  we  find  some  one  of 
manners  and  character  congenial  with  our  own,  who 
becomes  dear  to  us  because  we  seem  to  see  in  him  an 
illustrious  example  of  probity  and  virtue.  For  there 

1  Amor,  amicitia. 


156  CICERO 

is  nothing  more  lovable  than  virtue,  —  nothing  which 
more  surely  wins  affectionate  regard,  insomuch  that 
on  the  score  of  virtue  and  probity  we  love  even  those 
whom  we  have  never  seen.  Who  is  there  that  does 
not  recall  the  memory  of  Caius  Fabricius,  of  Manius 
Curius,  of  Tiberius  Coruncanius,  whom  he  never  saw, 
with  some  good  measure  of  kindly  feeling?  On  the 
other  hand,  who  is  there  that  can  fail  to  hate  Tarquin- 
ius  Superbus,  Spurius  Cassius,  Spurius  Maelius  ?  Our 
dominion  in  Italy  was  at  stake  in  wars  under  two  com- 
manders, Pyrrhus  and  Hannibal.  On  account  of  the 
good  faith  of  the  one,1  we  hold  him  in  no  unfriendly 
remembrance ;  the  other  because  of  his  cruelty  our 
people  must  always  hate. 

But  if  good  faith  has  such  attractive  power  that  we 
love  it  in  those  whom  we  have  never  seen,  or  —  what 
means  still  more  —  in  an  enemy,  what  wonder  is  it  if 
the  minds  of  men  are  moved  to  affection  when  they 
behold  the  virtue  and  goodness  of  those  with  whom 
they  can  become  intimately  united  ? 

Love  is,  indeed,  strengthened  by  favors  received,  by 
witnessing  assiduity  in  one's  service,  and  by  habitual 
intercourse ;  and  when  these  are  added  to  the  first 
impulse  of  the  mind  toward  love,  there  flames  forth 
a  marvellously  rich  glow  of  affectionate  feeling.  If 
there  are  any  who  think  that  this  proceeds  from  con- 
scious weakness  and  the  desire  to  have  some  person 
through  whom  one  can  obtain  what  he  lacks,  they 
assign,  indeed,  to  friendship  a  mean  and  utterly  igno- 
ble origin,  born,  as  they  would  have  it,  of  poverty  and 
neediness.  If  this  were  true,  then  the  less  of  resource 
one  was  conscious  of  having  in  himself,  the  better  fit- 
ted would  he  be  for  friendship.  The  contrary  is  the 

1  Pyrrhus,  King  of  Epirus,  who  invaded  Italy  in  280  B.  C. 


FRIENDSHIP  157 

case ;  for  the  more  confidence  a  man  has  in  himself, 
and  the  more  thoroughly  he  is  fortified  by  virtue  and 
wisdom,  so  that  he  is  in  need  of  no  one,  and  regards 
all  that  concerns  him  as  in  his  own  keeping,  the  more 
noteworthy  is  he  for  the  friendships  which  he  seeks 
and  cherishes.  What?  Did  Africanus1  need  me? 
Not  in  the  least,  by  Hercules.  As  little  did  I  need 
him.  But  I  was  drawn  to  him  by  admiration  of  his 
virtue,  while  he,  in  turn,  loved  me,  perhaps,  from  some 
favorable  estimate  of  my  character ;  and  intimacy 
increased  our  mutual  affection.  But  though  utilities 
many  and  great  resulted  from  our  friendship,  the  cause 
of  our  mutual  love  did  not  proceed  from  the  hope  of 
what  it  might  bring.  For  as  we  are  beneficent  and 
generous,  not  in  order  to  exact  kindnesses  in  return 
(for  we  do  not  put  our  kind  offices  to  interest),  but  are 
by  nature  inclined  to  be  generous,  so,  in  my  opinion^ 
friendship  is  not  to  be  sought  for  its  wages,  but  be- 
cause its  revenue  consists  entirely  in  the  love  which 
it  implies.  Those,  however,  who,  after  the  manner  of 
beasts,  refer  everything  to  pleasure,  think  very  differ- 
ently. Nor  is  it  wonderful  that  they  do ;  for  men 
who  have  degraded  all  their  thoughts  to  so  mean  and 
contemptible  an  end  can  rise  to  the  contemplation  of 
nothing  lofty,  nothing  magnificent  and  divine.  We 
may,  therefore,  leave  them  out  of  this  discussion. 
But  let  us  have  it  well  understood  that  the  feeling  of 
love  and  the  endearments  of  mutual  affection  spring 
from  nature,  in  case  there  is  a  well-established  assur- 
ance of  moral  worth  in  the  person  thus  loved.  Those 
who  desire  to  become  friends  approach  each  other, 
and  enter  into  relation  with  each  other,  that  each 
may  enjoy  the  society  and  the  character  of  him  whom 

1  Scipio. 


158  CICERO 

he  has  begun  to  love  ;  and  they  are  equal  in  love, 
and  on  either  side  are  more  inclined  to  bestow  obli- 
gations than. to  claim  a  return,  so  that  in  this  mat- 
ter there  is  an  honorable  rivalry  between  them.  Thus 
will  the  greatest  benefits  be  derived  from  friendship, 
and  it  will  have  a  more  solid  and  genuine  founda- 
tion as  tracing  its  origin  to  nature  than  if  it  pro- 
ceeded from  human  weakness.  For  if  it  were  utility 
that  cemented  friendships,  an  altered  aspect  of  util- 
ity would  dissolve  them.  But  because  nature  can- 
not be  changed,  therefore  true  friendships  are  eternal. 
This  may  suffice  for  the  origin  of  friendship,  unless 
you  have,  perchance,  some  objection  to  what  I  have 
said. 

ANDREW  P.  PEA  BODY. 


LETTERS l 

TO  CN.  POMPEIUS  MAGNUS,  IN  ASIA 
(Fam.  V.,  7.)a 
ROME,  B.  c.  62. 

M.  TULLIUS  CICERO,  son  of  Marcus,  greets  Cn. 
Porapeius,  son  of  Cneius,  Imperator. 

If  you  and  the  army  are  well  I  shall  be  glad.  From 
your  official  dispatch  I  have,  in  common  with  every 
one  else,  received  the  liveliest  satisfaction  ;  for  you 

1  In  the  Letters  Mr.  E.  S.  Shnckbnrgh's  translation  has  been  used, 
except  in  the  case  of  Fam.  XIV.,  2,  where  Mr.  Q.  E.  Jeans's  version 
baa  been  given.     The  chronological  order  has  been  followed. 

2  This  letter,  one  of  the  collection  Ad  Familiares,   was   written 
shortly  after  Pompey's  dispatches,  containing  the  news  of  his  victory 
over  Mithridates,  had  been  received  at  Rome. 


LETTERS  159 

have  given  us  that  strong  hope  of  peace,  of  which,  in 
sole  reliance  on  you,  I  was  assuring  every  one.  But  I 
must  inform  you  that  your  old  enemies  1  —  now  posing 
as  your  friends  —  have  received  a  stunning  blow  by 
this  dispatch,  and,  being  disappointed  in  the  high 
hopes  they  were  entertaining,  are  thoroughly  depressed. 
Though  your  private  letter  to  me  contained  a  some- 
what slight  expression  of  your  affection,  yet  I  can 
assure  you  it  gave  me  pleasure  :  for  there  is  nothing 
in  which  I  habitually  find  greater  satisfaction  than  in 
the  consciousness  of  serving  my  friends ;  and  if  on 
any  occasion  I  do  not  meet  with  an  adequate  return, 
I  am  not  at  all  sorry  to  have  the  balance  of  kind- 
ness in  my  favor.  Of  this  I  feel  no  doubt  —  even 
if  my  extraordinary  zeal  in  your  behalf  has  failed  to 
unite  you  to  me  —  that  the  interests  of  the  state 
will  certainly  effect  a  mutual  attachment  and  coalition 
between  us.  To  let  you  know,  however,  what  I  missed 
in  your  letter  I  will  write  with  the  candor  which  my 
own  disposition  and  our  common  friendship  demand. 
I  did  expect  some  congratulation  in  your  letter  on  my 
achievements,2  for  the  sake  at  once  of  the  ties  between 
us  and  of  the  Republic.  This  I  presume  to  have 
been  omitted  by  you  from  a  fear  of  hurting  any  one's 
feelings.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  what  I  did  for  the 
salvation  of  the  country  is  approved  by  the  judgment 
and  testimony  of  the  whole  world.  You  are  a  much 
greater  man  than  Africanus,3  but  I  am  not  much  infe- 
rior to  Laelius  either  ;  and  when  you  come  home  you 
will  recognize  that  I  have  acted  with  such  prudence 

1  Caesar  and  his  party. 

2  Cicero  had  written  him  an  account  of  his  suppression  of  the  Cati- 
lin.iri.in  conspiracy. 

3  Scipio,  whose  name,  together  with  that  of  Laelins,  has  been  al- 
ready mentioned  in  connection  with  the  dialogue  On  Friendship. 


160  CICERO 

and  spirit,  that  you  will  not  be  ashamed  of  being 
coupled  with  me  in  politics  as  well  as  in  private  friend 
ship. 

TO  HIS  WIFE  AND  FAMILY  IN  ROME1 

(Fam.  XIV.,  2.) 
THESSALONICA,  B.  c.  58. 

I  SEND  this,  my  dear  Terentia,  with  much  love  to 
you,  and  my  little  Tullia,  and  my  Marcus. 

I  hope  you  will  never  think  that  I  write  longer  let- 
ters to  other  people,  unless  it  so  happens  that  any  one 
has  written  to  me  about  a  number  of  matters  that  seem 
to  require  an  answer.  In  fact,  I  have  nothing  to  say, 
nor  is  there  anything  just  now  that  I  find  more  diffi- 
cult. But  to  you  and  my  dear  little  girl  I  cannot 
write  without  shedding  many  tears,  when  I  picture  to 
myself,  as  plunged  in  the,  deepest  affliction,  you  whom 
my  dearest  wish  has  been  to  see  perfectly  happy  ;  and 
this  I  ought  to  have  secured  for  you  ;  yes,  and  I  would 
have  secured,  but  for  our  being  all  so  faint-hearted. 

I  am  most  grateful  to  our  friend  Piso  2  for  his  kind 
services.  I  did  my  best  to  urge  that  he  would  not  forget 
you  when  I  was  writing  to  him  ;  and  have  now  thanked 
him  as  in  duty  bound.  I  gather  that  you  think  there 
is  hope  of  the  new  tribunes  ;  that  will  be  a  safe  thing 
to  depend  on,  if  we  may  on  the  profession  of  Pompe- 
ius,  but  I  have  my  fears  of  Crassus.  It  is  true  I  see 
that  everything  on  your  part  is  done  both  bravely  and 
lovingly,  nor  does  that  surprise  me,  but  what  pains 
me  is  that  it  should  be  my  fate  to  expose  you  to  such 
severe  suffering  to  relieve  my  own.  For  Publius  Vale- 

1  Written  during  his  exile.  2  Tullia's  husband. 


LETTERS  161 

rius,  who  has  been  most  attentive,  wrote  me  word, 
and  it  cost  me  many  tears  in  the  reading,  how  you 
had  been  forced  to  go  from  the  temple  of  Vesta  to  the 
Valerian  office.1  Alas,  my  light,  my  love,  whom  all 
used  once  to  look  up  to  for  relief !  —  that  you,  my 
Terentia,  should  be  treated  thus  ;  that  you  should  be 
thus  plunged  in  tears  and  misery,  and  all  through  my 
fault !  I  have  indeed  preserved  others,  only  for  me 
and  mine  to  perish. 

As  to  what  you  say  about  our  house2 — or  rather 
its  site  —  I  for  my  part  shall  consider  my  restoration 
to  be  complete  only  when  I  find  that  it  has  been  re- 
stored to  me.  But  these  things  are  not  in  our  hands : 
what  troubles  me  is,  that  in  the  outlay  which  must  be 
incurred  you,  unhappy  and  impoverished  as  you  are, 
must  necessarily  share.  However,  if  we  succeed  in 
our  object,  I  shall  recover  everything ;  but  then,  if  ill- 
fortune  continues  to  persecute  us,  are  you,  my  poor 
dear,  to  be  allowed  to  throw  away  what  you  may  have 
saved  from  the  wreck  ?  As  to  my  expenses,  I  entreat 
you,  my  dearest  life,  to  let  other  people,  who  can  do 
so  perfectly  if  they  will,  relieve  you ;  and  be  sure 
as  you  love  me  not  to  let  your  anxiety  injure  your 
health,  which  you  know  is  so  delicate.3  Night  and 
day  you  are  always  before  my  eyes !  I  can  see  you 
making  every  exertion  on  my  behalf,  and  I  fear  you 
may  not  be  able  to  bear  it.  But  I  know  well  that 
all  our  hopes  are  in  you ;  so  be  very  careful  of  your 

1  Terentia's  half-sister  Fabia  was  a  Vestal,  and  it  is  possible  that 
she  had  taken  refuge  -with  her.     The  "  Valerian  office  "  was    proba- 
bly a  bank,  where  she  was  required  to  make  a  declaration  about  her 
husband's  property. 

2  His  house  on  the  Palatine  had  been  destroyed  and   a  temple  of 
Liberty  built  on  its  site. 

8  Terentia  is  said  to  have  lived  to  the  age  of  103. 


162  CICERO 

health,  that  we  may  be  successful  in  what  you  hope 
and  are  working  for. 

As  far  as  I  know  there  is  nobody  I  ought  to  write 
to  except  those  who  write  to  me,  or  these  whom  you 
mention  in  your  letters.  Since  you  prefer  it  I  will 
not  move  any  further  from  here,  but  I  hope  you  will 
write  to  me  as  often  as  possible,  especially  if  we  have 
any  surer  grounds  for  hoping.  Good  bye,  my  dar- 
lings, good  bye. 

TO  ATTICUS  IN  ITALY,  ON  HIS  JOURNEY  TO  ROME 
(Att.  IV.,  4  b.) 

ANTIUM,1   B.   C.  56. 

IT  will  be  delightful  if  you  come  to  see  us  here. 
You  will  find  that  Tyrannic  2  has  made  a  wonderfully 
good  arrangement  of  my  books,  the  remains  of  which 
are  better  than  I  had  expected.  Still,  I  wish  you  would 
send  me  a  couple  of  your  library  slaves  for  Tyrannic 
to  employ  as  gluers,3  and  in  other  subordinate  work, 
and  tell  them  to  get  some  fine  parchment 4  to  make 
title-pieces,  which  you  Greeks,  I  think,  call  "  sillybi." 
But  all  this  is  only  if  not  inconvenient  to  you. 
In  any  case,  be  sure  you  come  yourself,  if  you  can 
halt  for  a  while  in  such  a  place,  and  can  persuade 
Pilia5  to  accompany  you.  For  that  is  only  fair,  and 

1  A  town  in  Latium,  on  the  Mediterranean,  where  one  of  Cicero's 
villas  was  situated. 

2  His  librarian. 

8  Their  duty  would  be  to  glue  together  the  separate  leaves  of  papy- 
rus used  in  making  up  a  roll. 

4  A  strip  of  parchment,  on  which  the  title  of  the  book  was  written, 
was  attached  to  the  roll. 

6  Atticus'  wife. 


LETTERS  163 

Tullia  is  anxious  that  she  should  come.  My  word  I 
You  have  purchased  a  fine  troop ! 1  Your  gladiators, 
I  am  told,  fight  superbly.  If  you  had  chosen  to  let 
them  out  you  would  have  cleared  your  expenses  by  the 
last  two  spectacles.  But  we  will  talk  about  this  later 
on.  Be  sure  to  come,  and,  as  you  love  me,  see  about 
the  library  slaves. 

TO  CAESAR,  IN  GAUL 
(Fam.  VH.,  5.)  a 

ROME,  B.  o.  64. 

• 
CICERO  greets  Caesar,  imperator.    Observe  how  far 

I  have  convinced  myself  that  you  are  my  second  self, 
not  only  in  matters  which  concern  me  personally,  but 
even  in  those  which  concern  my  friends.  It  had  been 
iny  intention  to  take  Gaius  Trebatius  with  me  for  what- 
ever destination  I  should  be  leaving  town,  in  order  to 
bring  him  home  again  honored  as  much  as  my  zeal  and 
favor  could  make  him.  But  when  Pompey  remained 
home  longer  than  I  expected,  and  a  certain  hesitation 
on  my  part  (with  which  you  are  not  unacquainted) 
appeared  to  hinder,  or  at  any  rate  to  retard,  my  de- 
parture, I  presumed  upon  what  I  will  now  explain 
to  you.  I  begin  to  wish  that  Trebatius  should  look 
to  you  for  what  he  had  hoped  from  me,  and  in  fact,  I 
have  been  no  more  sparing  of  my  promises  of  good- 
will on  your  part  than  I  had  been  wont  to  be  of  my 

1  Atticus  speculated  in  gladiators. 

2  A  letter  of  recommendation  in  behalf  of  C.  Trebatius  Testa,  the 
jurist.     We  have  seventeen  letters  of  Cicero  addressed  to  him,  most 
of  them  written  in  a  semi-humorous  strain,  and  all  indicating  a  close 
friendship  between  the  two  men. 


164  CICERO 

own.  Moreover,  an  extraordinary  coincidence  has 
occurred  which  seems  to  support  my  opinion  and  to 
guarantee  your  kindness.  For  just  as  I  was  speaking 
to  our  friend  Balbus  about  this  very  Trebatius  at  my 
house,  with  more  than  usual  earnestness,  a  letter  from 
you  was  handed  to  me,  at  the  end  of  which  you  say  : 
"  Miscinius  Rufus,  whom  you  recommend  to  me,  I 
will  make  king  of  Gaul,  or,  if  you  choose,  put  him 
under  the  care  of  Lepta.1  Send  me  some  one  else  to 
promote."  I  and  Balbus  both  lifted  our  hands  in 
surprise :  it  came  so  exactly  in  the  nick  of  time,  that 
it  appeared  to  be  less  the  result  of  mere  chance  than 
something  providential.  I  therefore  send  you  Treba- 
tius, and  on  two  grounds,  first  that  it  was  my  spon- 
taneous idea  to  send  him,  and  secondly,  because  you 
have  invited  me  to  do  so.  I  would  beg  you,  dear 
Caesar,  to  receive  him  with  such  a  display  of  kind- 
ness as  to  concentrate  on  his  single  person  all  that 
you  can  be  possibly  induced  to  bestow  for  my  sake 
upon  my  friends.  As  for  him  I  guarantee  —  not  in  the 
sense  of  that  hackneyed  expression  of  mine,  at  which, 
when  I  used  it  in  writing  to  you  about  Milo,  you  very 
properly  jested,  but  in  good  Roman  language  such  as 
sober  men  use  —  that  no  honester,  better,  or  more 
modest  man  exists.  Added  to  this,  he  is  at  the  top 
of  his  profession  as  a  jurisconsult,  possesses  an  un- 
equalled memory,  and  the  most  profound  learning. 
For  such  a  man  I  ask  neither  a  tribuueship,  prefec- 
ture, nor  any  definite  office,  I  ask  only  your  good-will 
and  liberality :  and  yet  I  do  not  wish  to  prevent  your 
complimenting  him,  if  it  so  please  you,  with  even 
these  marks  of  distinction.  In  fact,  I  transfer  him 
entirely  from  my  hand,  so  to  speak,  to  yours,  which  is 

1  A  friend  of  Cicero's,  who  was  with  Caesar  in  Gaul. 


LETTERS  165 

as  sure  a  pledge  of  good  faith  as  of  victory.  Excuse 
my  being  somewhat  importunate,  though  with  a  man 
like  you  there  can  hardly  be  any  pretext  for  it  — 
however,  I  feel  that  it  will  be  allowed  to  pass.  Be 
careful  of  your  health  and  continue  to  love  me  as 
ever. 


TO  HIS  BROTHER  QUINTUS,  IN    GAUL 
(Q.Fr.IH.,7.) 

TUSCULUM,1  B.   C.   54. 

AT  Home,  and  especially  on  the  Appian  road  as  far 
as  the  temple  of  Mars,  there  is  a  remarkable  flood. 
The  promenade  of  Crassipes  has  been  washed  away, 
pleasure  grounds,  a  great  number  of  shops.  There  is 
a  great  sheet  of  water  right  up  to  the  public  fishpond. 
That  doctrine  of  Homer's  is  in  full  play :  — 

"  The  days  in  autumn  when  in  violent  flood 
Zeus  pours  his  waters,  wroth  at  sinful  men  "  — 

for  it  falls  in  with  the  acquittal  of  Gabinius  — 

"  Who  wrench  the  law  to  suit  their  crooked  ends 
And  drive  out  justice,  recking  naught  of  Gods." 

But  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  care  about  such 
things.  When  I  get  back  to  Rome  I  will  write  and 
tell  you  my  observations,  and  especially  about  the  dic- 
tatorship, and  I  will  also  send  a  letter  to  Labienus  and 
one  to  Ligurius.  I  write  this  before  daybreak  by  the 
carved  wood  lampstand,  in  which  I  take  great  delight, 
because  they  tell  me  that  you  had  it  made  when  you 
were  at  Samos.  Good-bye,  dearest  and  best  of  bro- 
thers. 

1  About  ten  miles  southeast  of  Rome.    Cicero  had  a  villa  there. 


166  CICERO 

TO  C.  TREBATIUS  TESTA,   IN  GAUL 
(Fam.  VH.,  16.) 
ROME,  B.  c.  54. 

IN  the  "  Trojan  Horse," 1  just  at  the  end,  you  re- 
member the  words,  "Too  late  they  learn  wisdom." 
You,  however,  old  man,  were  wise  in  time.  Those  first 
snappy2  letters  of  yours  were  foolish  enough,  and 
then  .  .  .  !  I  don't  at  all  blame  you  for  not  being 
over-curious  in  regard  to  Britain.3  For  the  present, 
however,  you  seem  to  be  in  winter  quarters  somewhat 
short  of  warm  clothing,  and  therefore  not  caring  to 
stir  out :  — 

"  Not  here  and  there,  but  everywhere, 
Be  wise  and  ware : 
No  sharper  steel  can  warrior  hear." 

If  I  had  been  by  way  of  dining  out,  I  would  not  have 
failed  your  friend  Cn.  Octavius  ;  to  whom,  however,  I 
did  remark  upon  his  repeated  invitations,  "  Pray,  who 
are  you  ?  "  But,  by  Hercules,  joking  apart,  he  is  a 
pretty  fellow :  I  could  have  wished  you  had  taken  him 
with  you  !  Let  me  know  for  certain  what  you  are  do- 
ing and  whether  you  intend  coming  to  Italy  at  all  this 
winter.  Balbus  has  assured  me  that  you  will  be  rich. 
Whether  he  speaks  after  the  simple  Roman  fashion, 
meaning  that  you  will  be  well  supplied  with  money,  or 
according  to  the  Stoic  dictum,  that  "  all  are  rich  who 
can  enjoy  the  sky  and  the  earth,"  I  shall  know  here- 

1  A  play  by  one  of  the  earlier  Roman  dramatists,  either  Livius  or 
Naevius. 

2  The  firet  letters  written  by  Trebatins  after  going  to  Gaul  seem  to 
have  been  full  of  complaints. 

8  Trebatins  did  not  cross  the  Channel. 


LETTERS  167 

after.  Those  who  come  from  your  part  accuse  you  of 
pride,  because  they  say  you  won't  answer  men  who  put 
questions  to  you.  However,  there  is  one  thing  that 
will  please  you :  they  all  agree  in  saying  that  there  is 
no  better  lawyer  than  you  at  Samarobriva  ! 

TO  ATTICUS  IN  ROME 

(Att.  V.,  1.) 
MnmiRNAE,1  B.  c.  51. 

YES,  I  saw  well  enough  what  your  feelings  were  as 
I  parted  from  you  ;  what  mine  were  I  am  my  own  wit- 
ness. This  makes  it  all  the  more  incumbent  on  you 
to  prevent  an  additional  decree  being  passed,  so  that 
this  mutual  regret  of  ours  may  not  last  more  than  a 
year.  As  to  Annius  Saturninus,  your  measures  are  ex- 
cellent. As  to  the  guarantee,2  pray,  during  your  stay 
at  Rome,  give  it  yourself.  You  will  find  several 
guarantees  on  purchase,  such  as  those  of  the  estates  of 
Mennius,  or  rather  of  Attilius.  As  to  Oppius,3  that 
is  exactly  what  I  wished,  and  especially  your  having 
engaged  to  pay  him  the  800  sestertia,4  which  I  am 
determined  shall  be  paid  in  any  case,  even  if  I  have 
to  borrow  to  do  so,  rather  than  wait  for  the  last  day 
of  getting  in  my  own  debts.  I  now  come  to  that  last 
line  of  your  letter  written  crossways,  in  which  you  give 
me  a  word  of  caution  about  your  sister.5  The  facts  of 
the  matter  are  these.  On  arriving  at  my  place  at  Ar- 

1  In  Latium,  on  the  Via  Appia.     The  letter  was  written  by  Cicero 
on  his  way  to  Cilicia,  whither  he  was  going  as  proconsul. 

2  Of  the  title  to  some  property  that  Cicero  was  selling. 
8  The  agent  of  Caesar. 

*  About  $34,000. 

5  Atticus'  sister  Pomponia  was  the  wife  of  Cicero's  brother  Quintus. 


168  CICERO 

pinum,  my  brother  came  to  see  me,  and  our  first  sub- 
ject of  conversation  was  yourself,  and  we  discussed  it 
at  great  length.  After  this  I  brought  the  conversation 
round  to  what  you  and  I  had  discussed  at  Tusculum, 
on  the  subject  of  your  sister.  I  never  saw  anything  so 
gentle  and  placable  as  my  brother  was  on  that  occasion 
in  regard  to  your  sister :  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  if 
there  had  been  any  cause  of  quarrel  on  the  score  of  ex- 
pense, it  was  not  apparent.  So  much  for  that  day. 
Next  day  we  started  from  Arpinum.  A  country  fes- 
tival caused  Quintus  to  stop  at  Arcanum  ;  I  stopped 
at  Aquinum  ;  but  we  lunched  at  Arcanum.  You  know 
his  property  there.  When  we  got  there  Quintus  said, 
in  the  kindest  manner,  "  Pomponia,  do  you  ask  the 
ladies  in ;  I  will  invite  the  men."  Nothing,  as  I 
thought,  could  be  more  courteous,  and  that,  too,  not 
only  in  the  actual  words,  but  also  in  his  intention  and 
the  expression  of  face.  But  she,  in  the  hearing  of  us 
all,  exclaimed,  "  I  am  only  a  stranger  here !  "  The 
origin  of  that  was,  as  I  think,  the  fact  that  Statius  had 
preceded  us  to  look  after  the  luncheon.  Thereupon 
Quintus  said  to  me,  "  There,  that 's  what  I  have  to  put 
up  with  every  day !  "  You  will  say,  "  Well,  what  does 
that  amount  to  ?  "  A  great  deal ;  and,  indeed,  she 
had  irritated  even  me :  her  answer  had  been  given 
with  such  unnecessary  acrimony,  both  of  word  and  look. 
I  concealed  my  annoyance.  We  all  took  our  places  at 
table  except  her.  However,  Quintus  sent  her  dishes 
from  the  table,  which  she  declined.  In  short,  I  thought 
I  never  saw  anything  better-tempered  than  my  brother, 
or  crosser  than  your  sister :  and  there  were  many  par- 
ticulars which  I  omit  that  raised  my  bile  more  than 
they  did  that  of  Quintus  himself.  I  then  went  on  to 
Aquinum ;  Quintus  stopped  at  Arcanum,  and  joined 


LETTERS  169 

me  early  the  next  day  at  Aquinum.  He  told  me  that 
she  had  refused  to  sleep  with  him,  and  when  on  the 
point  of  leaving,  she  behaved  just  as  I  had  seen  her. 
Need  I  say  more  ?  You  may  tell  her  herself  that  in 
my  judgment  she  showed  a  marked  want  of  kindness 
on  that  day.  I  have  told  you  this  story  at  greater 
length,  perhaps,  than  was  necessary,  to  convince  you 
that  you,  too,  have  something  to  do  in  the  way  of  giv- 
ing her  instruction  and  advice. 

There  only  remains  for  me  to  beg  you  to  complete 
all  my  commissions  before  leaving  town ;  to  give 
Pomptinus l  a  push,  and  make  him  start ;  to  let  me 
know  as  soon  as  you  have  left  town,  and  to  believe 
that,  by  heaven,  there  is  nothing  I  love  and  find  more 
pleasure  in  than  yourself. 

I  said  a  most  affectionate  good-bye  to  that  best  of 
men,  A.  Torquatus,  at  Minturnae,  to  whom  I  wish  you 
would  remark,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  that  I 
have  mentioned  him  in  my  letter. 

CICERO  AND  HIS  SON  TO  TERENTIA  AND 
TULLIA,  IN  ROME2 

(Fam.  XIV.,  14.) 
MTKTUHNAE,  B.  c.  49.     . 

TULLIUS  to  Terentia,  her  father  to  Tullia,  his  two 
sweethearts,  and  Cicero  to  his  excellent  mother  and 
darling  sister,  send  warm  greetings.  If  you  are  well, 
we  are  so  too.  It  is  now  for  you  to  consider,  and  not 

1  An  old  friend  of  Cicero's,  who  was  to  be  one  of  his  lieutenants  in 
Cilicia. 

2  Cicero  had  taken  part  in  the  general  flight  from  Rome  that  fol- 
lowed the  news  of  Caesar's  having  crossed  the  Rubicon. 


170  CICERO 

for  me  only,  what  you  must  do.  If  Caesar  means  to 
come  to  Rome  in  a  peaceable  manner,  you  can  stay  at 
home  with  safety  for  the  present  :  but  if  in  his  mad- 
ness he  is  going  to  give  up  the  city  to  plunder,  I  fear 
Dolabella 1  himself  may  not  be  able  to  protect  us  suffi- 
ciently. Besides,  I  am  alarmed  lest  we  should  be  cut 
off  from  you,  so  that  when  you  do  wish  to  leave  town 
you  may  be  prevented.  There  is  one  other  thing, 
which  you  are  in  the  best  position  to  observe  yourselves 
—  are  other  ladies  of  your  rank  remaining  in  Rome  ? 
If  not,  it  deserves  consideration  whether  you  can  do  so 
with  propriety.  As  things  stand  at  present,  indeed, 
always  provided  that  I  am  allowed  to  hold  this  district, 
you  will  be  able  to  stay  with  me  or  .on  one  of  our  es- 
tates with  the  greatest  comfort.  There  is  another 
thing  I  am  afraid  of  —  a  want  of  provisions  in  the  city 
before  long.  On  these  points  pray  consult  with  Pom- 
ponius,2  with  Camillus,  with  anybody  you  think  right : 
above  all  don't  be  frightened.  Labienus  has  made 
things  better  for  us.  Piso,  too,  is  helpful  in  quitting 
the  city  and  declaring  his  own  son-in-law  guilty  of 
treason.  Do  you,  dear  hearts,  write  to  me  as  often  as 
possible,  and  tell  me  how  you  are  and  what  is  going 
on  around  you.  Quintus  and  his  son  and  Rufus  send 
their  love.  Good-bye  ! 

1  Tullia's  second  husband,  who  belonged  to  Caesar's  party. 

2  Atticus. 


LETTERS  171 

TOATTICUS  IN  ROME1 

(Att.  VII.,  20.) 

CAPUA,  B.  c.  49. 

I  HAVE  no  choice  but  to  be  brief.  I  have  given  up 
all  hope  of  peace,  and  as  to  war,  our  men  are  not  stir- 
ring a  finger.  Don't,  pray,  suppose  that  our  consuls 
care  for  anything  less  than  that :  though  it  was  in 
hopes  of  hearing  something  and  learning  what  prepara- 
tions we  were  making  that  I  came  to  meet  them  in  a 
pelting  rain  on  the  4th,  according  to  orders.  They, 
however,  had  not  arrived,  and  were  expected  on  the 
5th  —  empty-handed  and  unprepared.  Pompey,  again, 
is  said  to  be  at  Luceria,  and  on  his  way  to  join  some 
cohorts  of  the  Appian  legions,  which  are  far  from  be- 
ing in  a  very  satisfactory  state.  But  he,2  they  say,  is 
hurrying  along  and  is  expected  at  Rome  every  hour, 
not  to  fight  a  battle  —  for  who  is  there  to  fight  with  ? 
—  but  to  prevent  the  flight  from  town.  For  myself, 
if  it  is  to  be  in  Italy  —  "  if  die  I  must,"  etc. !  I  don't 
ask  your  advice  about  that :  but  if  it  is  to  be  outside 
Italy  —  what  can  I  do  ?  On  the  side  of  remaining 
there  are  the  winter  season,  my  lictors,  the  improvi- 
dence and  carelessness  of  our  leaders :  on  the  side  of 
flight,  my  friendship  for  Pompey,  the  claims  of  the 
loyalist  cause,  the  disgrace  of  having  anything  to  do 
with  a  tyrant ;  as  to  whom  it  is  uncertain  whether  he 
will  copy  Phalaris  or  Pisistratus.3  Pray  unravel  these 

1  One  of  the  many  letters  in  which  Cicero  asks  Atticus  for  advice 
and  guidance.     He  complains  of  the  apathy  of  the  consuls,  comparing 
it  with  Caesar's  energetic  movements. 

2  Caesar. 

8  Tyrants  of  Agrigentum  and  Athens  respectively. 


172  CICERO 

perplexities  for  me,  and  help  me  with  your  advice, 
though  I  expect  by  this  time  you  are  in  a  warm  corner 
yourself  at  Rome.  However,  do  the  best  you  can.  If 
I  learn  anything  fresh  to-day,  I  will  let  you  know. 
For  the  consuls  will  be  here  directly  on  the  5th,  the 
date  they  fixed  themselves.  I  shall  look  for  a  letter 
from  you  every  day.  But  do  answer  this  as  soon  as 
you  can.  I  left  the  ladies  and  the  two  boys  at  For- 
miae. 


SERVIUS  SULPICIUS1  TO  CICERO,  AT  ASTURA  » 

(Fam.  IV.,  5.) 
ATHENS,  B.  c.  45. 

WHEN  I  received  the  news  of  your  daughter  Tul- 
lia's  death,  I  was  indeed  as  much  grieved  and  dis- 
tressed as  I  was  bound  to  be,  and  looked  upon  it  as  a 
calamity  in  which  I  shared.  For  if  I  had  been  at 
home,  1  should  not  have  failed  to  be  at  your  side,  and 
should  have  made  my  sorrow  plain  to  you  face  to  face. 
That  kind  of  consolation  involves  much  distress  and 
pain,  because  the  relations  and  friends,  whose  part  it 
is  to  offer  it,  are  themselves  overcome  by  an  equal 
sorrow.  They  cannot  attempt  it  without  many  tears, 
so  that  they  seem  to  require  consolation  themselves 
rather  than  to  be  able  to  afford  it  to  others.  Still  I 
have  decided  to  set  down  briefly  for  your  benefit  such 

1  The  collection  of  letters  Ad  Familiares  includes  many  letters  to 
Cicero  by  various  correspondents.  Among  the  best  known  is  this  let- 
ter of  consolation  written  by  the  distinguished  jurist  and  orator  Serving 
Sulpicius  Ruf  us,  on  the  death  of  Cicero's  daughter,  Tullia. 

-  Cicero  had  a  villa  upon  an  island  at  the  mouth  of  the  Aatura,  a 
river  in  Latiura  flowing  into  the  Mediterranean. 


LETTERS  173 

thoughts  as  have  occurred  to  my  mind,  not  because  I 
suppose  them  to  be  unknown  to  you,  but  because  your 
sorrow  may  perhaps  hinder  you  from  being  so  keenly 
alive  to  them. 

Why  is  it  that  a  private  grief  should  agitate  you 
so  deeply?  Think  how  fortune  has  hitherto  dealt 
with  us.  Reflect  that  we  have  had  snatched  ^from  us 
what  ought  to  be  no  less  dear  to  human  beings  than 
their  children  —  country,  honor,  rank,  every  political 
distinction.  What  additional  wound  to  your  feelings 
could  be  inflicted  by  this  particular  loss  ?  Or  where  is 
the  heart  that  should  not  by  this  time  have  lost  all 
sensibility  and  learn  to  regard  everything  else  as  of 
minor  importance  ?  Is  it  on  her  account,  pray,  that 
you  sorrow  ?  How  many  times  have  you  recurred  to 
the  thought  —  and  I  have  often  been  struck  with  the 
same  idea  —  that  in  times  like  these  theirs  is  far  from 
being  the  worst  fate  to  whom  it  has  been  granted 
to  exchange  life  for  a  painless  death  ?  Now  what  was 
there  at  such  an  epoch  that  could  greatly  tempt  her  to 
live  ?  What  scope,  what  hope,  what  heart's  solace  ? 
That  she  might  spend  her  life  with  some  young  and 
distinguished  husband?  How  impossible  for  a  man 
of  your  rank  to  select  from  the  present  generation  of 
young  men  a  son-in-law,  to  whose  honor  you  might 
think  yourself  safe  in  trusting  your  child!  Was  it 
that  she  might  bear  children  to  cheer  her  with  the 
sight  of  their  vigorous  youth?  who  might  by  their 
own  character  maintain  the  position  handed  down  to 
them  by  their  parent,  might  be  expected  to  stand  for 
the  offices  in  their  order,  might  exercise  their  freedom 
in  supporting  their  friends  ?  What  single  one  of  these 
prospects  has  not  been  taken  away  before  it  was  given  ? 

1  By  the  triumph  of  the  Caesarian  party. 


174  CICERO 

But,  it  will  be  said,  after  all  it  is  an  evil  to  lose  one's 
children.  Yes,  it  is :  only  it  is  a  worse  one  to  endure 
and  submit  to  the  present  state  of  things. 

I  wish  to  mention  to  you  a  circumstance  which 
gave  me  no  common  consolation,  on  the  chance  of  its 
also  proving  capable  of  diminishing  your  sorrow.  On 
my  voyage  from  Asia,  as  I  was  sailing  from  Aegina 
towards  Megara,  I  began  to  survey  the  localities  that 
were  on  every  side  of  me.  Behind  me  was  Aegina,  in 
front  Megara,  on  my  right  Piraeus,  on  my  left  Corinth : 
towns  which  at  one  time  were  most  flourishing,  but 
now  lay  before  my  eyes  in  ruin  and  decay.  I  began 
to  reflect  to  myself  thus  :  "  Ah !  do  we  manikins  feel 
rebellious  if  one  of  us  perishes  or  is  killed  —  we  whose 
life  ought  to  be  still  shorter  —  when  the  corpses  of 
so  many  towns  lie  in  helpless  ruin  ?  Will  you  please, 
Servius,  restrain  yourself  and  recollect  that  you  are 
born  a  mortal  man  ?  "  Believe  me,  I  was  no  little 
strengthened  by  that  reflection.  Now  take  the  trouble, 
if  you  agree  with  me,  to  put  this  thought  before  your 
eyes.  Not  long  ago  all  those  most  illustrious  men  per- 
ished at  one  blow : 1  the  empire  of  the  Roman  people 
suffered  that  huge  loss  :  all  the  provinces  were  shaken 
to  their  foundations.  If  you  have  become  the  poorer 
by  the  frail  spirit  of  one  poor  girl,  are  you  agitated 
thus  violently  ?  If  she  had  not  died  now,  she  would  yet 
have  had  to  die  a  few  years  hence,  for  she  was  mortal 
born.  You,  too,  withdraw  soul  and  thought  from  such 
things,  and  rather  remember  those  which  become  the 
part  you  have  played  in  life :  that  she  lived  as  long 
as  life  had  anything  to  give  her ;  that  her  life  outlasted 
that  of  the  Republic  ;  that  she  lived  to  see  you  —  her 
own  father  —  praetor,  consul,  and  augur ;  that  she 

1  The  defeat  of  the  Pompeians  by  Caesar  at  Pharsalus. 


LETTERS  175 

married  young  men  of  the  highest  rank ;  that  she  had 
enjoyed  nearly  every  possible  blessing  ;  that,  when  the 
Republic  fell,  she  departed  from  life.  What  fault 
have  you  or  she  to  find  with  fortune  on  this  score  ?  In 
fine,  do  not  forget  that  you  are  Cicero,  and  a  man 
accustomed  to  instruct  and  advise  others  ;  and  do  not 
imitate  bad  physicians,  who  in  the  diseases  of  others 
profess  to  understand  the  art  of  healing,  but  are  un- 
able to  prescribe  for  themselves.  Rather  suggest  to 
yourself  and  bring  home  to  your  own  mind  the  very 
maxims  which  you  are  accustomed  to  impress  upon 
others.  There  is  no  sorrow  beyond  the  power  of  time 
at  length  to  diminish  and  soften :  it  is  a  reflection  on 
you  that  you  should  wait  for  this  period,  and  not 
rather  anticipate  that  result  by  the  aid  of  your  wis- 
dom. But  if  there  is  any  consciousness  still  existing 
in  the  world  below,  such  was  her  love  for  you  and  her 
dutiful  affection  for  all  her  family,  that  she  certainly 
does  not  wish  you  to  act  as  you  are  acting.  Grant 
this  to  her  —  your  lost  one  !  Grant  it  to  your  friends 
and  comrades  who  mourn  with  you  in  your  sorrow  ! 
Grant  it  to  your  country,  that  if  the  need  arises  she 
may  have  the  use  of  your  services  and  advice. 

Finally  —  since  we  are  reduced  by  fortune  to  the 
necessity  of  taking  precautions  on  this  point  also  —  do 
not  allow  any  one  to  think  that  you  are  not  mourning 
so  much  for  your  daughter  as  for  the  state  of  public 
affairs  and  the  victory  of  others.  I  am  ashamed  to 
say  any  more  to  you  on  this  subject,  lest  I  should  ap- 
pear to  distrust  your  wisdom.  Therefore  I  will  only 
make  one  suggestion  before  bringing  my  letter  to  an 
end.  We  have  seen  you  on  many  occasions  bear  good 
fortune  with  a  noble  dignity  which  greatly  enhanced 
your  fame  :  Now  is  the  time  for  you  to  convince  us  that 


176  CICERO 

you  are  able  to  bear  bad  fortune  equally  well,  and  that 
it  does  not  appear  to  you  to  be  a  heavier  burden  than 
you  ought  to  think  it.  I  would  not  have  this  be  the 
only  one  of  all  the  virtues  that  you  do  not  possess. 

As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  when  I  learn  that  your 
mind  is  more  composed,  I  will  write  you  an  account 
of  what  is  going  on  here,  and  of  the  condition  of  the 
province.  Good-bye. 

TO  ATTICUS,  IN  ROME 
(Att.  XV.,  16  a.) 
ASTURA,  B.  o.  44. 

AT  length  a  letter-carrier  from  my  son?1  And, 
by  Hercules,  a  letter  elegantly  expressed,  showing  in 
itself  some  progress.  Others  also  give  me  excellent 
reports  of  him.  Leonides,2  however,  still  sticks  to  his 
favorite  "  at  present."  But  Herodes 2  speaks  in  the 
highest  terms  of  him.  In  short,  I  am  glad  even  to  be 
deceived  in  this  matter,  and  am  not  sorry  to  be  credu- 
lous. Pray  let  me  know  if  Statius  has  written  to  you 
anything  of  importance  to  me. 

CICERO,  THE  YOUNGER,  TO  TIRO3 
(Fam.  XVI.,  21.) 
ATHENS,  B.  c.  44. 

AFTER  I  had  been  anxiously  expecting  letter-car- 
riers day  after  day,  at  length  they  arrived  forty-six 

1  Marcus,  who  was  at  the  time  a  student  in  Athens. 

a  Whose  lectures  Marcus  was  attending. 

*  Cicero's  freedman  and    confidential   secretary.     It  was  he  who 


LETTERS  177 

days  after  they  left  you.  Their  arrival  was  most  wel- 
come to  me :  for  while  I  took  the  greatest  possible 
pleasure  in  the  letter  of  the  kindest  and  most  beloved 
of  fathers,  still  your  most  delightful  letter  put  a  fin- 
ishing stroke  to  my  joy.  So  I  no  longer  repent  of 
having  suspended  writing  for  a  time,  but  am  rather 
rejoiced  at  it ;  for  I  have  reaped  a  great  reward  in 
your  kindness  from  my  pen  having  been  silent.  I  am 
therefore  exceedingly  glad  that  you  have  unhesitat- 
ingly accepted  my  excuse.  I  am  sure,  dearest  Tiro, 
that  the  reports  about  me  which  reach  you  answer 
your  best  wishes  and  hopes.  I  will  make  them  good, 
and  will  do  my  best  that  this  belief  in  me,  which  day 
by  day  becomes  more  and  more  en  evidence,  shall  be 
doubled.  Wherefore  you  may  with  confidence  and  as- 
surance fulfil  your  promise  of  being  the  trumpeter  of 
my  reputation.  For  the  errors  of  my  youth  have  caused 
me  so  much  remorse  and  suffering,  that  not  only  does 
my  heart  shrink  from  what  I  did,  my  very  ears  abhor 
the  mention  of  it.  And  of  this  anguish  and  sorrow 
I  know  and  am  assured  that  you  have  taken  your 
share.  And  I  don't  wonder  at  it!  for  while  you 
wished  me  all  success  for  my  sake,  you  did  so  also  for 
your  own  ;  for  I  have  ever  meant  you  to  be  my  part- 
ner in  all  my  good  fortunes.  Since,  therefore,  you 
have  suffered  sorrow  through  me,  I  will  now  take 
care  that  through  me  your  joy  shall  be  doubled. 
Let  me  assure  you  that  my  very  close  attachment 
to  Cratippus  1  is  that  of  a  son  rather  than  a  pupil : 
for  though  I  enjoy  his  lectures,  I  am  also  specially 

edited  the  letters  Ad  Familiares.  The  modern  tone  of  this  letter, 
written  by  a  university  student  to  his  father's  man  of  business,  will 
be  noticed. 

1  The  distinguished  Peripatetic  philosopher. 


178  CICERO 

charmed  with  his  delightful  manners.  I  spend  whole 
days  with  him,  and  often  part  of  the  night :  for 
I  induce  him  to  dine  with  me  as  often  as  possible. 
This  intimacy  having  been  established,  he  often  drops 
in  upon  us  unexpectedly  while  we  are  at  dinner,  and 
laying  aside  the  stiff  airs  of  a  philosopher  joins  in  our 
jests  with  the  greatest  possible  freedom.  He  is  such 
a  man  —  so  delightful,  so  distinguished  —  that  you 
should  take  pains  to  make  his  acquaintance  at  the  ear- 
liest possible  opportunity.  I  need  hardly  mention  Brut- 
tius,1  whom  I  never  allow  to  leave  my  side.  He  is  a 
man  of  a  strict  and  moral  life,  as  well  as  being  the  most 
delightful  company.  For  in  him  fun  is  not  divorced 
from  literature  and  the  daily  philosophical  inquiries 
which  we  make  in  common.  I  have  hired  a  residence 
next  door  to  him,  and  as  far  as  I  can  with  my  poor 
pittance 2  I  subsidize  his  narrow  means.  Further- 
more, I  have  begun  practising  declamation  in  Greek 
with  Cassius  ;  in  Latin  I  like  having  my  practice 
with  Bruttius.  My  intimate  friends  and  daily  com- 
pany are  those  whom  Cratippus  brought  with  him 
from  Mitylene  —  good  scholars,  of  whom  he  has  the 
highest  opinion.  I  also  see  a  great  deal  of  Epicrates, 
the  leading  man  at  Athens,  and  Leonides,3  and  other 
men  of  that  sort.  So  now  you  know  how  I  am  going 
on. 

You  remark  in  your  letter  on  the  character  of  Gor- 
gias.4  The  fact  is,  I  found  him  very  useful  in  my 
daily  practice  of  declamation ;  but  I  subordinated 

1  Known  only  from  this  passage. 

2  About  $4000  a  year. 

8  He  had  written  to  Cicero  somewhat  unfavorably  about  his  son. 

*  A  distinguished  rhetorician,  but  a  man  of  dissolute  habits.  He 
seems  to  have  encouraged  young  Marcus  in  dissipation,  and  Cicero 
had  objected  to  his  son's  intimacy  with  him. 


LETTERS  179 

everything  to  obeying  my  father's  injunctions,  for 
he  had  written  ordering  me  to  give  him  up  at  once. 
I  would  n't  shilly-shally  about  the  business,  for  fear 
my  making  a  fuss  should  cause  my  father  to  harbor 
some  suspicion.  Moreover,  it  occurred  to  me  that  it 
would  be  offensive  for  me  to  express  an  opinion  on  a 
decision  of  my  father's.  However,  your  interest  and 
advice  are  welcome  and  acceptable.  Your  apology  for 
lack  of  time  I  quite  accept ;  for  I  know  how  busy  you 
always  are.  I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  bought 
an  estate,  and  you  have  my  best  wishes  for  the  success 
of  your  purchase.  Don't  be  surprised  at  my  congrat- 
ulations coming  in  at  this  point  in  my  letter,  for  it  was 
at  the  corresponding  point  in  yours  that  you  told  me 
of  your  purchase.  You  are  a  man  of  property  !  You 
must  drop  your  city  manners :  you  have  become  a 
Koman  country  gentleman.  How  clearly  I  have  your 
dearest  face  before  my  eyes  at  this  moment !  For  I 
seem  to  see  you  buying  things  for  the  farm,  talking 
to  your  bailiff,  saving  the  seeds  at  dessert  in  the 
corner  of  your  cloak.  But  as  to  the  matter  of  money, 
I  am  as  sorry  as  you  that  I  was  not  on  the  spot  to 
help  you.  But  do  not  doubt,  my  dear  Tiro,  of  my 
assisting  you  in  the  future,  if  fortune  does  but  stand 
by  me  ;  especially  as  I  know  that  this  estate  has  been 
purchased  for  our  joint  advantage.  As  to  my  com- 
missions about  which  you  are  taking  trouble  —  many 
thanks !  But  I  beg  you  to  send  me  a  secretary  at 
the  earliest  opportunity  —  if  possible  a  Greek ;  for 
he  will  save  me  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  copying 
out  notes.  Above  all,  take  care  of  your  health,  that 
we  may  have  some  literary  talk  together  hereafter. 
I  commend  Anteros  1  to  you. 

1  The  slave  who  brought  the  letter. 


180  CICERO 

TO  GAIUS  TREBONIUS,  IN  ASIA1 
(Fam.  X.,  28.) 
HOME,  B.  c.  43. 

How  I  could  wish  that  you  had  invited  me  to  that 
most  glorious  banquet  on  the  Ides  of  March !  2  We 
should  have  had  no  leavings !  3  While,  as  it  is,  we  are 
having  such  a  trouble  with  them,  that  the  magnificent 
service  which  you  men  then  did  the  state  leaves  room 
for  some  grumbling.  In  fact,  for  Antony's  having 
been  taken  out  of  the  way  by  you,  —  the  best  of  men, 
—  and  that  it  was  by  your  kindness  that  this  pest  still 
survives,  I  sometimes  do  feel,  though  perhaps  I  have 
no  right  to  do  so,  a  little  angry  with  you.  For  you 
have  left  behind  an  amount  of  trouble  which  is  greater 
for  me  than  for  every  one  else  put  together. 

For  as  soon  as  a  meeting  of  the  senate  could  be 
freely  held,  after  Antony's  very  undignified  departure, 
I  returned  to  that  old  courage  of  mine,  which  along 
with  that  gallant  citizen,  your  father,  you  ever  had 
upon  your  lips  and  in  your  heart.  For  the  tribunes 
having  summoned  the  senate  for  the  20th  of  Decem- 
ber, and  having  brought  a  different  piece  of  business 
before  it,  I  reviewed  the  situation  as  a  whole,4  and 
spoke  with  the  greatest  fire,  and  tried  all  I  could  to 
recall  the  now  languid  and  wearied  senate  to  its  an- 
cient and  traditional  valor,  more  by  an  exhibition  of 
high  spirit  than  of  eloquence. 

1  Trebonius  had  taken  a  prominent  part  in  the  conspiracy  which 
resulted  in  the  assassination  of  Caesar.  He  afterwards  went  as  pro- 
consul to  the  province  of  Asia. 

8  The  date  of  the  assassination. 

8  Cicero  would  have  had  Antony  killed  too. 

4  The  speech  alluded  to  is  the  third  Philippic. 


LETTERS  181 

This  day  and  this  earnest  appeal  from  me  were  the 
first  things  that  inspired  the  Roman  people  with  the 
hope  of  recovering  its  liberty.  And  had  not  I  sup- 
posed that  a  gazette  of  the  city  and  of  all  acts  of  the 
senate  was  transmitted  to  you,  I  would  have  written 
you  out  a  copy  with  my  own  hand,  though  I  have  been 
overpowered  with  a  multiplicity  of  business.  But 
you  will  learn  all  that  from  others.  From  me  you 
shall  have  a  brief  narrative,  and  that  a  mere  sum- 
mary. Our  senate  is  courageous,  but  the  consulars 
are  partly  timid,  partly  disaffected.  We  have  had  a 
great  loss  in  Servius.1  Lucius  Caesar  entertains  the 
most  loyal  sentiments,  but,  being  Antony's  uncle,  he 
refrains  from  very  strong  language  in  the  senate. 
The  consuls  are  splendid.  Decimus  Brutus  is  cover- 
ing himself  with  glory.  The  youthful  Caesar  2  is  be- 
having excellently,  and  I  hope  he  will  go  on  as  he  has 
begun.  You  may  at  any  rate  be  sure  of  this  —  that, 
had  he  not  speedily  enrolled  the  veterans,  and  had  not 
the  two  legions  transferred  themselves  from  Antony's 
army  to  his  command,  and  had  not  Antony  been  con- 
fronted with  that  danger,  there  is  no  crime  or  cruelty 
which  he  3  would  have  omitted  to  practise.  Though  I 
suppose  these  facts  too  have  been  told  you,  yet  I 
wished  you  to  know  them  still  better.  I  will  write 
more  when  I  get  more  leisure. 

1  Servius  Sulpicius  Ruf us,  who  had  died  while  on  an  embassy  to 
Antony. 

s  Afterwards  Augustus. 
8  Antony. 


CAESAR 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

INDISPUTABLY  the  greatest  personality  in  Roman  history, 
Caesar,  in  addition  to  his  epoch-making  achievements  as  a 
statesman  and  as  a  general,  showed  throughout  his  career 
a  keen  interest  in  various  branches  of  literature  and  science. 
His  writings  included  commentaries  on  the  Gallic  and  on 
the  Civil  War,  a  grammatical  treatise  on  Analogy  which 
is  said  to  have  been  composed  during  a  journey  from  Italy 
to  Transalpine  Gaul,  a  work  dealing  with  some  problems 
of  astronomy,  a  pamphlet  against  Cato  Minor,  written  in 
the  camp  at  Munda  in  answer  to  the  panegyric  which 
Cicero  had  published  shortly  after  Cato's  suicide  at  Utica, 
some  poems,  and  many  letters  and  speeches.  Of  these  the 
commentaries  alone  have  come  down  to  us,  the  others  being 
known  only  through  the  testimony  of  contemporary  or  later 
authors  or  from  a  few  fragments  which  have  survived. 

He  was  born  in  100  B.  c.  The  Julian  gens,  to  which  he  be- 
longed, was  of  patrician  rank,  and  more  than  one  of  its  mem- 
bers had  already  attained  to  the  consulship.  Of  bis  early 
life  and  education,  little  is  known,  but  one  of  his  tutors  is 
said  to  have  been  the  Gaul  M.  Antonius  Gnipho,  a  rhetori- 
cian of  some  repute.  Through  the  marriage  of  his  father's 
sister  to  Marius,  he  was  during  his  boyhood  and  youth 
brought  in  close  contact  with  the  great  popular  leader,  and 
this  connection  undoubtedly  did  much  to  develop  in  him 
the  democratic  spirit  which  helped  to  make  him  the  idol  of 
the  Roman  masses.  His  wife  was  Cornelia,  the  daughter 
of  Cinna,  the  famous  adherent  of  Marius.  He  began  his 


CAESAR  183 

military  service  under  M.  Minucius  Thernius  in  Asia.  On 
his  return  to  Rome  in  78,  he  came  forward  with  an  accusa- 
tion of  extortion  against  Cn.  Dolabella,  who  had  been  pro- 
consul of  Macedonia.  Although  unsuccessful  in  this  and 
in  a  similar  attempt  directed  against  Gaius  Antonius,  for- 
merly proconsul  in  Greece,  his  speeches  won  high  praise, 
and  he  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  best  orators  of  the  time. 
He  subsequently  pursued  his  rhetorical  studies  under  Molon 
at  Rhodes.  After  holding  office  as  quaestor,  aedile,  and 
praetor,  he  went  in  61  to  Further  Spain  as  propraetor. 
The  year  60  saw  the  formation  of  the  first  triumvirate, 
which  made  him,  together  with  Pompey  and  Crassus,  su- 
preme in  the  state.  Consul  in  59,  he  was  in  the  following 
year  appointed  to  the  proconsulship  of  Gaul,  where  he  spent 
the  greater  part  of  nine  years,  actively  engaged  in  military 
and  administrative  work.  In  the  mean  time  a  rupture  be- 
tween him  and  Pompey  had  taken  place.  In  the  Civil  War 
which  followed,  the  victories  at  Pharsalus  (48),  Thapsus 
(46),  and  Munda  (45)  made  him  absolute  master  of  the 
Roman  world.  His  triumph,  however,  was  short-lived ;  he 
was  assassinated  on  the  15th  of  March,  44. 

The  commentaries  on  the  Gallic  War  are  a  record  of  his 
career  in  Gaul  during  the  years  58-52,  and  were  in  all  proba- 
bility written  in  51.  There  are  seven  books,  each  giving  an 
account  of  the  events  of  a  single  year.  The  last  two  years 
of  his  command  are  treated  by  his  lieutenant  Hirtius  in  the 
eighth  book.  The  gap  between  the  Gallic  War  and  the  Civil 
War,  that  is,  the  years  51-49,  is  filled  by  the  narratives 
of  others  of  his  lieutenants  dealing  with  the  Alexandrian, 
the  African,  and  the  Spanish  wars.  His  commentaries 
on  the  Civil  War  consist  of  three  books,  the  first  two  tak- 
ing up  the  events  of  49,  the  third  those  of  48.  His  aim 
in  writing  the  account  of  the  Gallic  War  seems  to  have 
been  to  impress  the  Roman  people  with  the  greatness  of  his 
services  in  extending  the  bounds  of  their  empire.  In  his 
work  on  the  Civil  War  he  doubtless  desired  to  show  that 
he  had  done  everything  in  his  power  to  avert  the  War. 


184  CAESAR 

It  is  pei'haps  the  element  of  restraint  and  reserve  that 
contributes  most  to  the  effectiveness  of  Caesar's  style.  His 
narrative,  moreover,  is  marked  by  a  sustained  objectivity : 
he  writes  as  if  he  had  been  only  a  spectator  of  the  events  of 
which  he  was  so  great  a  part.  Carefully  avoiding  all  merely 
rhetorical  devices,  and  using  only  the  purest  Latin,  he  tells 
his  story  with  the  utmost  directness,  simplicity,  and  clearness. 

THE  SIEGE  OF  ALESIA1 

Taken  from  the  narrative  based  on  De  Bella  Gallico,  VII.,  69-89,  in 
T.  Rice  Holmes'  Caesar's  Conquest  of  Gaul. 

NEXT  day  the  Romans  arrived  at  Alesia,  where 
Vercingetorix  was  preparing  to  make  his  final  stand. 
The  column  descended  a  valley  closed  on  the  right  and 
the  left  by  the  hills  of  Bussy  and  Pevenel.  On  their 
left  front,  connected  with  Pevenel  by  a  broad  neck  of 
land,  rose  a  hill,  much  lower  than  Gergovia,2  but 
still  too  steep  to  be  taken  by  assault.  The  Gauls 
were  swarming  on  the  eastern  slope,  beneath  the 
scarped  rocks  of  the  plateau,  on  which  stood  the  town  ; 
and  Vercingetorix  had  made  them  build  a  wall  and 
dig  a  ditch,  to  protect  their  encampment.  Just  at 
their  feet  the  legions  saw  a  stream,  the  Oze,  winding 
like  a  steely  thread  through  the  greenery  that  fringed 
the  north  of  the  hill ;  and  beyond  its  southern  side, 

1  Alesia,  the  capital  of  the  Mandubii,  now  Alise  Ste.  Reine  on  Mont 
Anxois,  west  of  Dijon,  was  the  scene  of  the  last  concerted  attempt  on 
the  part  of  the  Gauls  to  free  themselves  from  Roman  rule.  That  this 
rebellion  of  52  B.  c.,  which  had  begun  in  the  country  of  the  Arverni, 
the  modern  Auvergne,  became  a  national  one  was  due  very  largely  to 
the  enthusiastic  patriotism  and  personal  magnetism  of  the  young 
Arvernian  chieftain  Vercingetorix.  It  was  only  after  many  months 
of  fighting  that  Caesar  forced  the  rebels  to  retreat  to  Alesia. 

8  The  capital  of  the  Arverni,  upon  which  Caesar  had  made  an  unsuc- 
cessful attack. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ALESIA  185 

parallel  to  the  Oze,  but  invisible,  flowed  the  little  river 
Ozerain.  Moving  down  past  the  hill  of  Rea,  the 
soldiers  came  to  a  miniature  plain,  which  extended, 
three  miles  in  length,  beneath  the  western  slope  of 
Alesia,  and  was  bounded  on  its  further  side  by  a 
range  of  heights;  the  river  Brenne,  which  received 
the  waters  of  the  Oze  and  the  Ozerain,  meandered 
through  it  from  south  to  north  ;  and  beyond  the  Oze- 
rain the  steep  declivities  of  Flavigny  completed  the 
zone  of  hills. 

Caesar  harangued  his  troops  and  encouraged  them 
to  brace  themselves  for  a  toilsome  effort.  As  it  was 
evident  that  the  place  could  not  be  taken  except  by  a 
blockade,  he  drew  a  line  of  investment,  fully  ten  miles 
in  length,  along  which  a  ring  of  camps  was  constructed. 
Those  intended  for  the  cavalry  were  on  low  ground, 
—  three  in  the  plain  and  one  in  the  valley  of  the 
Rabutin,  which  entered  the  Oze  from  the  north.  The 
rest  were  strongly  placed  upon  the  slopes  of  the  out- 
lying hills.  Close  to  the  camps  redoubts  or  block- 
houses, twenty-three  in  all,  were  thrown  up ;  and 
strong  pickets  were  placed  in  them,  to  guard  against 
any  sudden  sortie. 

Soon  after  the  commencement  of  the  works,  Ver- 
cingetorix  sent  all  his  cavalry  down  the  hill ;  and  a 
desperate  combat  was  fought  in  the  western  plain. 
Caesar's  Gallic 1  and  Spanish  horse  were  soon  in  trou- 
ble ;  and  he  sent  his  Germans  to  reinforce  them. 
The  legions  were  drawn  up  in  front  of  their  camps, 
to  deter  the  enemy's  foot  from  attempting  a  sortie. 
The  Gauls  were  beaten,  and  galloped  back  along  the 
valleys  of  the  Oze  and  the  Ozerain,  hotly  pursued  by 
the  Germans  :  but  the  gates  of  the  camp  being  too 
1  Some  of  the  Gauls  had  adhered  to  Caesar. 


186  CAESAR 

narrow,  many  of  the  thronging  fugitives  were  cut 
down  ;  while  others  threw  themselves  off  their  horses 
and  tried  to  scramble  over  the  wall.  The  legions, 
by  Caesar's  order,  moved  forward  a  little.  The  Gauls 
inside  the  wall  were  smitten  with  panic  :  "  To  arms !  " 
they  cried,  "  To  arms !  "  Many  of  them  fled  helter- 
skelter  up  the  hillside ;  and  Vercingetorix  was  obliged 
to  shut  the  gates  of  the  town,  for  fear  the  camp  should 
be  left  unprotected. 

He  saw  with  dismay  that  the  toils  were  closing 
around  him.  He  had  never  expected  that  Caesar, 
who  had  failed  so  ignominiously  at  Gergovia,  would 
be  strong  enough  to  attempt  a  systematic  blockade. 
But  there  were  now  ten  legions  instead  of  six ;  and 
wherever  he  looked,  over  the  plain  or  down  in  the 
valleys,  there  were  soldiers  at  work  with  axe  or  spade. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  appeal  to  the  whole 
Gallic  people  to  extricate  him  from  the  trap  in  which 
he  was  caught.  The  ring  of  redoubts  was  not  yet 
complete :  the  Romans  were  far  too  few  to  blockade 
the  whole  circuit  of  the  mountains  :  and  the  cavalry 
might  perhaps  steal  out  in  the  dark  without  attract- 
ing notice.  He  charged  them  to  go,  each  to  his  own 
country,  and  bring  back  with  them  every  man  who 
could  wield  a  sword.  He  reminded  them  of  all  that 
he  had  done  for  the  good  cause,  and  adjured  them 
not  to  abandon  him  to  the  vengeance  of  the  Romans. 
Everything  depended  on  their  using  all  speed :  if 
they  left  him  to  perish,  the  whole  garrison  would  per- 
ish with  him.  By  reducing  the  rations,  he  reckoned 
that  he  might  make  the  provisions  last  a  little  over  a 
month.  Silently  up  each  river  valley  sped  the  shad- 
owy cavalcade,  until  it  was  lost  to  view. 

Caesar  learned  the  whole  story  from  some  deserters. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ALESIA  187 

Its  only  effect  was  to  stimulate  his  inventive  genius. 
If  he  could  keep  the  army  of  Vercingetorix  from 
breaking  out,  he  could  also  keep  the  relieving  force 
from  breaking  in.  The  most  vulnerable  part  of  his 
position  was  the  open  meadow  on  the  western  side  of 
the  mountain.  Across  this  expanse,  from  the  Oze  to 
the  Ozerain,  a  trench  was  dug,  twenty  feet  wide  with 
perpendicular  sides,  to  prevent  the  enemy  from  at- 
tacking the  troops  while  they  were  constructing  the 
proper  works.  About  four  hundred  yards  behind 
the  ends  of  this  trench,  but  bending  outwards,  was 
traced  the  line  of  contra vallation,  which  was  prolonged 
so  as  to  surround  Alesia,  and  ran  along  the  lower  slopes 
of  the  encircling  hills  and  across  the  valley  of  the 
Rabutin.  First  of  all,  two  parallel  trenches  were  dug, 
each  fifteen  feet  wide  and  eight  feet  deep,  the  outer 
of  which  extended  only  across  the  plain,  while  the  in- 
ner, embracing  the  whole  circuit  of  the  hill,  was  filled, 
where  the  level  permitted,  with  water  drawn  from  the 
Ozerain  and  the  Rabutin.  Just  behind  the  outer 
trench,  and  also  behind  that  portion  of  the  other  which 
encompassed  the  rest  of  the  position,  a  rampart  was 
erected,  surmounted  by  a  palisade,  with  an  embattled 
fence  of  wattle-work  in  front,  from  the  bottom  of 
which  projected  stout  forked  branches.  The  combined 
height  of  rampart  and  palisade  was  twelve  feet. 
Wooden  towers  were  erected  upon  the  western  sec- 
tion of  the  rampart  at  intervals  of  eighty  feet,  and 
also  at  certain  points  along  the  rest  of  the  contra- 
vallation. 

To  repel  the  reinforcements  for  which  Vercingetorix 
had  sent,  a  line  of  works  somewhat  similar  to  these, 
forming  the  circum vallation,  was  traced  along  the 
heights  of  Mavigny,  Pevenel  and  Bussy,  and  across  the 


188  CAESAR 

intervening  valleys  and  the  plain.  The  circuit  of  this 
line  was  fully  ten  miles. 

But  even  these  works  were  not  deemed  sufficient. 
The  Gauls  made  frequent  and  furious  sallies.  Com- 
paratively few  of  the  Romans  were  available  as  com- 
batants ;  for  many  had  to  go  in  quest  of  corn  and 
timber,  while  others  were  laboring  on  the  works. 
Caesar  therefore  invented  various  subsidiary  defences. 
Ditches,  five  feet  deep,  were  dug  just  inside  the  large 
moat  that  was  filled  with  water ;  and  five  rows  of 
strong  boughs  were  fixed  in  each,  with  one  end  protrud- 
ing above  ground,  sharpened  and  with  the  branches 
projecting  so  as  to  form  a  kind  of  abatis.  In  front 
of  them  and  rising  a  few  inches  above  the  ground,  but 
purposely  concealed  by  brushwood,  were  sharp  pointed 
logs  embedded  in  small  pits.  In  front  of  these  again, 
concealed,  but  barely  concealed,  beneath  the  turf, 
were  barbed  spikes  fixed  in  pieces  of  wood.  Fringed 
by  these  formidable  defences,  Caesar  expected  that 
contravallation  and  circumvallation  would  be  alike 
impregnable. 

Nevertheless,  the  struggle  was  likely  to  be  pro- 
longed ;  and  it  would  certainly  tax  to  the  utmost  the 
endurance  and  the  fighting  power  of  the  men.  As 
soon  as  the  relieving  army  should  arrive,  the  Romans 
would  be  hemmed  in  between  two  desperate  enemies. 
Every  moment  for  preparation  was  precious.  Flying 
parties  scoured  the  country  for  corn  and  provender : 
but  they  could  not  collect  a  sufficient  supply  ;  and  the 
rations  had  to  be  reduced.  Every  day,  —  even  by 
night,  when  the  moon  was  up,  or  in  the  glow  of  the 
watch-fires,  —  the  besieged  could  see  the  indefatigable 
legionaries  laboring  to  finish  their  works  before  the 
time  for  the  great  hazard  should  arrive. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ALES  I  A  189 

Meanwhile  Vercingetorix  had  abandoned  his  camp, 
and  withdrawn  the  troops  who  occupied  it  into  the 
town.  He  took  every  precaution  to  husband  his  scanty 
resources.  He  ordered  the  whole  of  the  grain  to  be 
thrown  into  one  common  stock  and  brought  to  him 
for  safe  keeping ;  and  he  let  it  be  known  that  dis- 
obedience would  be  punished  with  death.  From  time 
to  time  each  man  received  his  scanty  ration.  Meat 
was  tolerably  abundant ;  for  the  Mandubii  had  driven 
large  numbers  of  cattle  into  the  stronghold. 

The  appeal  of  Vercingetorix  had  meanwhile  been 
answered.  A  council  of  chieftains  met  to  consider 
the  situation.  Vercingetorix,  in  his  great  need,  had 
asked  for  an  universal  levy :  but  the  cooler  judgment 
of  the  council  rejected  his  demand.  So  vast  a  mul- 
titude would  become  unmanageable ;  and  it  would 
be  impossible  to  find  food  for  so  many  mouths.  It 
was  resolved,  therefore,  to  call  upon  each  tribe  for  a 
limited  contingent.  The  summons  was  obeyed  with 
alacrity ;  and  from  north  and  south  and  east  and  west, 
from  the  Seine,  the  Loire  and  the  Garonne,  from 
the  marshes  of  the  Scheldt  and  the  Sambre  and  the 
mountains  of  the  Vosges  and  the  Cevennes,  from  the 
Channel  and  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  horse  and  foot  came 
swarming  to  save  the  hero  of  Gaul.  But  even  in 
this  supreme  moment,  in  one  instance,  tribal  jealousy 
prevailed  over  patriotism.  The  Bellovaci  perempto- 
rily refused  to  send  a  single  man.  They  intended, 
they  said,  to  attack  Caesar  on  their  own  account, 
and  had  no  intention  of  being  dictated  to  by  any 
one.  They  consented,  however,  as  a  personal  favor 
to  Commius,  king  of  the  Atrebates,  who  had  great 
influence  with  them,  to  despatch  a  small  contingent. 
Four  generals  were  chosen ;  for,  except  Vercingetorix 


190  CAESAR 

himself,  there  was  no  one  leader  of  sufficient  eminence 
to  command  universal  confidence.  And,  as  if  this 
weakening  of  authority  were  not  enough,  the  generals 
were  fettered  by  civil  commissioners,  whose  instruc- 
tions they  were  to  follow  in  the  conduct  of  the  cam- 
paign. One  of  the  four  was  Commius,  who  had,  in 
former  years,  rendered  good  service  to  Caesar,  but 
was  now  swept  away  on  the  wave  of  patriotic  enthusi- 
asm. He  had  indeed  good  reason  to  abhor  the  Ro- 
man name.  Just  before  the  outbreak  of  the  rebellion, 
Labienus1  had  discovered  that  he  was  conspiring 
against  Caesar,  and  had  sent  the  tribune  Volusenus 
to  assassinate  him.  He  escaped  with  a  wound  ;  and 
now  he  saw  a  prospect  of  taking  his  revenge.  His 
brother  generals  were  Eporedorix  and  Viridomarus, 
representing  the  Aedui,  and  Vercassivellaunus,  a  cou- 
sin of  Vercingetorix.  The  vast  host  mustered  in  the 
country  of  the  Aedui,  eight  thousand  horsemen  and 
nearly  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  foot,  and 
marched  for  Alesia  in  the  certain  confidence  of  victory. 
By  this  time  the  garrison  were  in  great  straits. 
Their  grain  was  all  consumed.2  Day  after  day  they 
strained  their  eyes,  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
relieving  army:  but  there  was  never  a  sign.  At 
length  the  chieftains  called  a  council  of  war.  Some 
advised  surrender :  others  were  clamorous  for  a  grand 
sortie :  but  one  proposal  equalled  in  atrocity  the 
worst  that  has  been  told  of  Jerusalem  or  Samaria. 
An  Arvernian  chieftain,  called  Critognatus,  reminded 
his  hearers  that  their  fathers,  when  driven  into  their 

1  At  this  time  Caesar's  most  trusted  officer.  At  the  outbreak  of  the 
Civil  War  he  deserted  to  Pompey. 

8  According  to  Napoleon  I.  (Prtcis  dea  gwrrea  de  Cisar,  1836,  p. 
110),  more  than  50  days  must  have  elapsed  between  the  departure 
of  Vercingetorix's  cavalry  and  the  arrival  of  the  relieving  army. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ALES  I  A  191 

fastnesses  by  the  Cimbri  and  Teutoni,  had  sustained 
life  by  feeding  upon  the  flesh  of  those  who  were  use- 
less for  warfare  ;  and  he  urged  that,  to  give  the  garri- 
son strength  to  hold  out  to  the  last  against  the  tyrants 
who  made  war  only  to  enslave,  this  glorious  precedent 
should  be  followed.  Finally  it  was  decided  that  all 
who  were  too  old,  too  young,  or  too  feeble  to  fight 
should  be  expelled  from  the  town ;  that  those  who 
remained  should  try  every  expedient  before  having 
recourse  to  the  desperate  remedy  of  Critognatus  ;  but 
that,  if  the  relieving  army  failed  to  arrive  in  time, 
they  should  even  follow  his  counsel  rather  than  sur- 
render. Accordingly  the  Mandubii,  to  whom  the  town 
belonged,  were  compelled  to  depart,  with  their  wives 
and  children.  They  presented  themselves  before  the 
Roman  lines.  Many  of  them  were  weeping.  They 
piteously  begged  the  soldiers  to  receive  them  as  slaves, 
—  only  give  them  something  to  eat.  To  grant  their 
prayer  was  impossible ;  and  a  line  of  guards,  whom 
Caesar  posted  on  the  rampart,  forbade  any  attempt  to 
escape. 

But  suspense  was  nearly  at  an  end.  It  was  just 
after  the  expulsion  of  the  Mandubii  when  the  anxious 
watchers  on  the  hill  saw,  moving  over  the  plain,  a 
multitude  of  cavalry.  The  infantry  were  on  the 
heights  of  Mussy-la-Fosse  behind.  In  a  fever  of  ex- 
ultation men  ran  to  and  fro,  exchanging  congratula- 
tions. The  garrison  descended  the  hill,  prepared  for 
a  sortie.  Vercingetorix  had  forgotten  nothing.  His 
men  were  provided  with  fascines1  for  filling  up  the 
trenches,  and  movable  huts  to  protect  their  approach. 
Soon  a  fierce  combat  of  horse  was  raging  over  the 
plain.  The  legionaries  were  posted,  ready  for  emer- 

1  Bundles  of  sticks. 


192  CAESAR 

gencies,  along  the  outer  and  the  inner  lines.  Arch- 
ers were  scattered  among  the  Gallic  ranks  ;  and  the 
arrows  fell  so  thick  and  fast  that  scores  of  wounded 
horsemen  were  seen  riding  off  the  field.  Every  man 
fought  like  a  hero ;  for  they  knew  that  from  the 
heights  around  friends  and  enemies  alike  were  anx- 
iously watching.  The  numbers  of  the  Gauls  began 
to  tell ;  and  their  countrymen,  behind  and  before,  en- 
couraged them  by  loud  yells.  All  through  the  after- 
noon the  battle  raged  uncertain.  But  towards  sunset 
the  ever-victorious  Germans  charged  in  a  compact 
body,  and  threw  the  division  opposed  to  them  into 
disorder :  the  archers  were  exposed  and  killed :  the 
rout  was  general ;  and  the  besieged  who  had  sallied 
forth  turned  in  despair,  and  reascended  the  hill. 

But  Commius  and  his  brother  generals  were  still 
hopeful.  Next  day  their  men  were  hard  at  work, 
making  fascines  and  scaling  ladders  for  a  grand  as- 
sault on  the  Roman  lines.  About  midnight  they 
quitted  their  camp,  and  moved  in  silence  across  the 
plain.  As  they  approached  the  works,  they  raised  a 
simultaneous  shout,  to  put  the  besieged  on  the  alert ; 
and,  as  they  flung  their  fascines  into  the  ditch,  the 
trumpet  was  heard,  calling  the  garrison  to  arms. 
Stones  flew  from  slings :  arrows  whizzed  through  the 
air ;  and,  though  the  Romans  too  plied  their  slings, 
and  supports  hurried  from  the  neighboring  redoubts 
to  the  relief  of  any  point  that  was  too  hardly  pressed, 
the  enemy  were  too  many  for  them,  and  they  suffered 
heavily  :  but  when  those  ghost-like  companies  rushed 
in  to  storm  the  rampart,  they  trod  upon  the  spikes,  or, 
stumbling  into  the  holes,  impaled  themselves  on  the 
pointed  logs,  while  heavy  pikes  were  hurled  down 
from  the  towers  into  the  seething  multitude.  The 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ALESIA  193 

Roman  artillery  made  great  havoc.  The  losses  on 
either  side  were  very  heavy ;  for  they  were  fighting 
in  the  dark,  and  shields  were  of  little  use.  Towards 
dawn  the  Gauls  retreated,  fearing  an  attack  in  flank  ; 
and  the  besieged,  who  had  lost  much  valuable  time  in 
attempting  to  cross  the  inner  trench,  went  back  before 
they  could  strike  a  blow. 

One  more  chance  remained.  The  leaders  of  the 
relieving  army  questioned  the  rustics  about  the  lie  of 
the  ground  on  the  north  and  the  nature  of  the  Roman 
defences.  Mont  Rea,  which  bounded  the  plain  and 
rose  above  the  further  bank  of  the  Oze,  extended  so 
far  to  the  north  that  Caesar  had  not  been  able  to  en- 
close it  in  his  line  of  circumvallation.  On  the  south- 
ern slope,  close  to  the  stream,  stood  one  of  the  Roman 
camps.  It  was  held  by  two  legions,  —  perhaps  about 
eight  thousand  men,  —  under  Reginus  and  Caninius. 
In  order  to  avoid  observation,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  approach  the  camp  by  a  wide  detour.  The  Gauls 
sent  scouts  to  reconnoitre.  It  appeared  that  Mont 
Rea  was  connected  by  a  ridge  with  a  further  group  of 
heights.  Just  after  dark  sixty  thousand  picked  men, 
under  the  command  of  Vercassivellaunus,  left  the 
Gallic  camp,  and,  passing  right  round  the  sweep  of 
the  northern  hills,  halted  at  daybreak  for  a  rest  in  a 
hollow  north-east  of  Mont  Re*a.  About  noon,  just  as 
they  were  moving  down  on  the  camp,  the  cavalry,  by 
a  preconcerted  arrangement,  streamed  over  the  plain 
towards  the  Roman  lines :  the  rest  of  the  infantry 
showed  themselves  in  front  of  their  encampment ;  and 
Vercingetorix,  observing  these  movements  from  the 
citadel,  descended  the  hill  and  moved  towards  the 
plain. 

This  time  there  was  no  delay.     The  inner  trench 


194  CAESAR 

was  filled  up,  where  necessary,  with  earth  and  fascines : 
stout  sappers'  huts,  destined  to  protect  the  men  when 
they  should  approach  to  storm  the  lines,  long  poles 
fitted  with  hooks  for  tearing  down  the  rampart,  and 
other  implements  which  Vercingetorix  had  provided, 
were  carried  across;  and  the  besieged  moved  on  to 
make  their  last  effort. 

A  desperate  struggle  then  began.  Wherever  there 
was  a  weak  spot  in  the  defences,  the  Gauls  threw  them- 
selves upon  it ;  and  the  Romans,  comparatively  few 
in  numbers,  and  scattered  owing  to  the  vast  extent  of 
their  lines,  found  great  difficulty  in  massing  themselves 
upon  the  exposed  points.  Moreover,  they  were  pain- 
fully distracted  by  the  roar  of  battle  in  their  rear ;  for 
both  on  the  inner  and  the  outer  line  men  felt,  as  they 
fought,  that  they  must  perish  if  their  comrades  behind 
suffered  the  enemy  to  break  through.  Yet,  agitated 
as  they  were,  they  combated  with  a  nervous  eager  en- 
ergy; and  the  besieged  struggled  as  desperately  as 
they ;  for  both  knew  that  that  day's  fight  would  decide 
all :  —  the  Gauls  were  lost  unless  they  could  break  the 
line ;  the  Romans,  if  they  could  but  hold  that  line, 
saw  their  long  toil  at  an  end.  From  the  slope  of  Fla- 
vigny,  south  of  the  Ozerain,  the  view  from  which  em- 
braced the  whole  plain,  Caesar  directed  the  battle,  and 
sent  supports  to  every  point  where  he  saw  his  men 
hard  pressed.  The  attack  on  the  circumvallatiou  in 
the  plain  was  comparatively  feeble ;  for  the  bulk  of 
the  relieving  force  was  formidable  only  in  numbers. 
Nor  were  those  numbers  wisely  directed.  The  Aedui 
may  have  been  treacherous :  the  generals  may  have 
disagreed,  or  they  may  have  been  fettered  by  the 
civil  commissioners  ;  anyhow  the  Gauls  made  no  at- 
tempt upon  the  circumvallation,  except  on  Mont  Re*a 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ALESIA  195 

and  in  the  plain.  The  fighting  was  fiercest  on  Mont 
Re'a.  The  Gauls  were  so  numerous  that  Vercassivel- 
launus  could  always  send  fresh  men  to  relieve  their 
comrades.  Coming  down  on  the  camp  from  a  higher 
level,  the  assailants  hurled  their  missiles  with  fatal 
momentum  :  they  shot  earth  in  heaps  over  the  pointed 
logs  and  the  spikes,  and,  locking  their  shields  over 
their  heads,  passed  unscathed  to  the  rampart ;  and, 
then  their  numbers  began  to  tell.  Suddenly  a  gal- 
loper rode  up  and  told  Caesar  that  the  garrison  were 
worn  out,  and  their  stock  of  missiles  failing.  He  im- 
mediately sent  Labienus  with  six  cohorts  to  the  res- 
cue, telling  him  to  hold  on  as  long  as  he  could,  and 
when  he  could  hold  on  no  longer,  to  sally  forth,  and 
fight  it  out  in  the  open.  Then,  riding  down  between 
the  lines  on  to  the  plain,  he  harangued  his  weary  sol- 
diers and  adjured  them  not  to  give  in  :  just  one  short 
hour,  and  the  prize  was  won.  At  last  the  besieged 
abandoned  in  despair  the  attempt  to  break  through, 
and,  wheeling  to  the  left,  crossed  the  Ozerain,  and 
flung  themselves  against  the  works  at  the  foot  of  Fla- 
vigny.  They  drove  the  artillerymen  from  the  towers 
with  volleys  of  missiles  :  they  shot  earth  and  fascines 
into  the  ditch,  and  made  their  way  across :  they  tore 
down  the  palisading  of  the  rampart :  six  cohorts,  then 
seven  more  were  sent  down  to  help,  and  still  they 
pressed  on,  —  till  Caesar  himself  hurried  to  the  spot 
with  fresh  reinforcements,  and  drove  them  away. 
Everywhere,  except  at  Mont  Rea,  the  victory  was  won. 
Caesar  called  out  four  cohorts  from  the  nearest  re- 
doubt, told  his  cavalry  to  follow  him,  and  sent  a  horse- 
man galloping  to  the  northern  cavalry  camp  to  send 
another  detachment  down  upon  the  enemy's  rear. 
They  were  now  swarming  over  the  rampart ;  and,  as 


196  CAESAR 

a  last  resource,  Labienus  summoned  every  available 
man  from  the  neighboring  redoubts  to  his  aid.  By 
good  luck  these  reinforcements  amounted  to  eleven 
cohorts,  —  perhaps  four  thousand  men.  And  now, 
conspicuous  in  his  crimson  cloak,  Caesar  was  descried, 
hurrying  across  the  plain.  The  enemy  made  a  su- 
preme effort.  Labienus  and  his  men  took  heart,  and 
rushed  into  the  thick  of  the  stormers.  As  Caesar  ap- 
proached, he  heard  the  shouts  of  the  combatants :  he 
saw  the  camp  abandoned  and  the  short  swords  flash- 
ing over  the  slopes  beyond.  Suddenly  the  cavalry 
appeared  on  the  heights  above  the  enemy's  rear : 
Caesar's  reserves  came  up  to  attack  them  in  front; 
and  they  fled  in  bewilderment,  —  into  the  midst  of 
the  hostile  squadrons.  Vercassivellaunus  himself  was 
captured,  and  seventy-four  standards ;  and  of  the 
sixty  thousand  chosen  men  who  had  marched  out  of 
camp  the  night  before  only  a  remnant  returned.  The 
whole  scene  was  visible  from  the  town  ;  and  in  despair 
the  officers  left  in  command  sent  to  recall  their  com- 
rades from  below.  The  vast  host  without  vanished  in 
the  gathering  darkness.  The  legions  were  too  tired 
to  follow,  or  all  might  have  been  destroyed :  but  at 
midnight  the  cavalry  were  sent  in  pursuit ;  and  when 
day  broke,  they  were  still  hunting  the  fugitives  and 
capturing  or  slaying  them  in  scores. 

All  was  lost :  so  Vercingetorix  clearly  saw.  In  the 
night  he  formed  his  resolve.  Next  morning  he  gath- 
ered the  tribal  chiefs  around  him.  He  told  them  that 
he  had  fought,  not  for  himself  but  for  his  country- 
men ;  and,  since  they  must  needs  all  bow  to  fortune,  he 
was  ready  to  place  himself  at  their  disposal,  —  to  die, 
if  they  wished  to  appease  the  Romans  by  his  death, 
or  to  yield  himself  up  as  a  prisoner  of  war.  They 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ALESIA  197 

accepted  his  offer,  and  consented  to  purchase  life  by 
sacrificing  the  leader  of  their  own  choice.  Ambassa- 
dors were  sent  to  learn  the  pleasure  of  the  conqueror. 
He  ordered  the  chiefs  of  the  garrison  to  be  brought 
out,  and  all  the  arms  to  be  surrendered.  The  chiefs 
were  led  forth ;  and  Caesar,  seated  on  his  tribunal, 
received  their  submission.  Vercingetorix,  mounted 
on  a  gaily  caparisoned  charger,  rode  round  the  tri- 
bunal, and  then,  leaping  to  the  ground,  took  off  his 
armor,  laid  down  his  sword,  and  bowed  himself  at 
Caesar's  feet.  He  was  sent  to  Rome,  and  imprisoned 
in  a  dungeon.  Six  years  later  he  was  brought  out,  to 
adorn  Caesar's  triumph ;  and  then  he  was  put  to 
death. 

T.  RICE  HOLMES. 


VIRGIL 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

WHILE  in  true  poetic  inspiration  Virgil  does  not  rank 
with  Lucretius  or  Catullus,  yet  in  his  larger  conception 
of  the  poet's  function,  in  his  more  artistic  handling  of  his 
themes,  and  in  his  mastery  of  technique  he  is  far  supe- 
rior to  them.  He  is  a  product  of  the  Augustan  age,  with 
its  more  settled  political  and  social  atmosphere,  its  wider 
culture,  and  its  higher  ideals  of  literary  art.  We  miss,  it 
is  true,  the  individual  note  that  marks  the  work  of  some 
of  the  earlier  poets,  hut  in  its  place  is  something  of  fuller 
volume,  an  essentially  national  tone,  emanating  from  one 
who  was  possessed  with  the  idea  of  his  country's  greatness. 
In  his  Georgics  he  sings  the  praise  of  Italian  agriculture ; 
his  Aeneid  is  a  glorification  of  the  Roman  race. 

He  was  horn  in  Mantua  in  70  B.  c.  His  parents  were 
plebeians,  but  sufficiently  prosperous  to  give  their  son  a  good 
education.  He  received  his  first  training  at  Cremona,  went 
afterwards  to  Naples,  and  finally  to  Rome.  How  long  he 
remained  at  the  capital  on  this  occasion  is  not  certain,  but 
we  know  from  the  Eclogues  that  he  was  in  his  native  place 
during  the  troubles  caused  by  the  confiscation  of  lands  in 
northern  Italy  for  the  benefit  of  the  veterans  of  Octavian  l 
after  the  battle  of  Fhilippi  in  42  B.  c.  The  soldiers,  not 
satisfied  with  the  lands  which  had  been  assigned  to  them 
around  Cremona,  proceeded  to  seize  those  near  Mantua; 
and  it  was  only  through  the  protection  afforded  him  by 
Asinius  Pollio,  the  legate  in  the  district,  and  afterwards 

1  Afterwards  the  Emperor  Augustus. 


VIRGIL  199 

by  the  intervention  of  Octavian  himself,  that  the  poet  was 
secured  in  the  possession  of  his  farm.  From  this  time  on 
he  enjoyed  the  patronage  of  Maecenas  and  Octavian,  liv- 
ing for  the  most  part  either  at  Naples  or  at  Rome.  About 
37  B.  c.,  possibly  at  the  suggestion  of  Maecenas,  he  be- 
gan the  composition  of  the  Georgics,  and  the  next  seven 
years  were  spent  upon  this  work.  The  writing  of  the 
Aeneid  followed,  and  he  had  devoted  eleven  years  to  it 
when  he  died  in  19  B.  c.  while  returning  from  a  journey 
to  Athens. 

Not  to  mention  some  minor  poems  attributed  to  him, 
Virgil's  works  consist  of  the  Eclogues,  ten  in  number,  the 
Georgics,  in  four  books,  and  the  Aeneid,  in  twelve.  The 
Eclogues  are  either  genuine  pastoral  poems  following 
more  or  less  strictly  the  form  used  by  his  model  Theocri- 
tus, or  pastoral  allegories  in  which,  while  the  speakers  are 
ostensibly  shepherds  and  the  pastoral  background  is  pre- 
served, prominent  personages  of  the  time  are  really  repre- 
sented and  topics  discussed  which  have  no  connection  what- 
ever with  any  phase  of  shepherd  life.  To  the  first  class 
the  second,  third,  fifth,  seventh,  and  eighth  belong,  some  of 
them  (the  third,  seventh,  and  eighth)  showing  the  amoc- 
baean  structure  that  is  characteristic  of  bucolic  poetry.  In 
the  second  class  are  the  first,  the  sixth,  the  ninth,  and  the 
tenth.  The  fourth  is  altogether  outside  the  bucolic  sphere. 

The  content  of  the  Georgics  is  aptly  summed  up  in  the 
opening  lines  :  — 

What  makes  the  cornfield  smile ;  beneath  what  star, 

Maecenas,  it  is  meet  to  turn  the  sod 

Or  marry  elm  with  vine ;  how  tend  the  steer ; 

What  pains  for  cattle  keeping,  or  what  proof 

Of  patient  trial  serves  for  thrifty  bees,  — 

Snch  are  my  themes. 

Among  the  many  sources  used  by  the  poet  in  the  composi- 
tion of  the  work  we  find  writers  as  far  removed  from  one 
another  as  Homer  and  Hyginus.  A  large  element,  however, 


200  VIRGIL 

came  from  his  own  experience  on  his  Mantuan  estate.  A 
striking  feature  of  the  poem  is  the  artistic  interweaving  of 
episodes  having  in  themselves  little  or  nothing  to  do  with 
the  main  theme.  The  first  book,  for  example,  has  a  fine 
description  of  the  portents  that  appeared  just  after  Caesar's 
assassination ;  the  second,  the  famous  passage  in  which  the 
praises  of  Italy  are  sung ;  the  fourth,  the  story  of  Ari- 
staeus.  But  this  is  only  one  of  the  devices  adopted  to 
lighten  a  theme  that  in  less  skilful  hands  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  become  tedious.  We  have  besides  many  finely 
elaborated  pictures  of  nature,  picturesque  descriptions  of 
rural  occupations  and  activities,  little  touches  of  realism, 
wise  saws  and  homely  maxims,  —  all  wrought  into  a  per- 
fect whole  by  the  sure  hand  of  the  artist. 

In  the  Aeneid  Virgil  enters  the  epic  field.  It  is  the 
story  of  the  coming  of  Aeneas  of  Troy  and  his  followers  to 
Italy,  and  the  founding  of  the  Roman  state.  In  the  first 
six  books  we  are  told  of  the  sack  of  Troy  by  the  Greeks, 
the  flight  of  Aeneas  with  a  remnant  of  the  Trojans,  their 
long  wanderings,  their  visit  to  Sicily,  their  stay  at  Car- 
thage, and  Aeneas'  descent  into  Hades.  The  second  half  of 
the  poem  describes  the  wars  with  the  natives,  ending  with 
the  death  of  Turnus,  the  young  chieftain  of  the  Rutulians, 
at  the  hands  of  Aeneas. 

While  we  must  admit  the  justice  of  some  of  the  criticisms 
of  the  Aeneid,  —  that  the  poet  has  in  many  passages  imi- 
tated and  even  plagiarized  from  Homer,  that  there  is,  espe- 
cially in  the  last  six  books,  a  lack  of  that  variety  of  incident 
which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  Homeric  epics,  —  the  poem 
shows,  nevertheless,  qualities  which  give  it  one  of  the  first 
places  in  the  list  of  the  world's  great  epics :  descriptive 
powers  of  a  high  order,  a  wealth  of  imagery  that  mani- 
fests itself  sometimes  in  similes  and  metaphors,  sometimes 
in  a  single  word  or  phrase  charged  with  poetic  associations, 
a  rare  skill  in  handling  dramatic  situations,  a  perfect  mas- 
tery of  language,  and  lastly  a  marvellous  command  of  the 
dactylic  hexameter. 


DAMON  AND  ALPHESIBOEUS  201 

DAMON  AND  ALPHESIBOEUS1 
(Eclogue  Vin.) 

SONGS  of  the   shepherds  Damon  and  Alphesiboeus, 

my  theme : 
Hearkening  to  whom  with  rapture  as  each  in  rivalry 

sung, 
Heifers   forgot  their  pasture,  upon  whose   melodies 

hung 
Lynxes    smitten  with  wonder,   and    every  listening 

stream 

Loitered  with  altered  current  along  its  watery  way ;  5 
Damon  and  Alphesiboeus  shall  be  our  burden  to-day. 

Sailing  already  abreast  of  the  great  Timavus's  hill,2 
Whether  I  find  thee,3  or  coasting  around  Illyria  still, 
Comes  not  the  bright  day  ever  when  this  poor  tongue 

shall  be  free 
Thy  fair  deeds  to  proclaim  ?     Shall  I  ne'er  at  liberty 

be  10 

Proudly  to  waft  thy  verse  o'er  earth  and  her  every 

clime, 

Only  of  Athens  worthy,  and  buskin 'd  tragedy's  prime  ? 
Thou  my  Muse's  beginning,  her  song  shall  finish  with 

thee. 

1  The  Eclogue  contains  the  songs  of  the  two  shepherds  Damon  and 
Alphesiboeus,  the  former  telling  of  the  faithlessness  of  his  mistress, 
the  latter  giving  the  song  of  a  Thessalian  girl  who  is  trying  by  magic 
to  win  hack  her  lover. 

8  The  rocks  near  the  month  of  the  river  Timavns  on  the  north 
shore  of  the  Adriatic. 

8  Pollio,  to  whom  the  poem  is  addressed,  was  on  his  way  home 
from  a  successful  campaign  in  Ulyricum,  on  the  east  coast  of  the 
Adriatic. 


202  VIRGIL 

Take  these  strains  at  thy  bidding  essayed,  and  grant 
me  to  lay 

Round  thy  brow  these  ivies  to  twine  with  the  con- 
queror's bay.  is 

Hardly  as  yet  from  the  skies  had  the  night's  chill 

shadow  dispersed, 
Dew  lay  sweet  on  the  spring-tide  grass  for  the  cattle 

atliirst ; 
Propped  on  an  olive  staff  thus  sang  young  Damon, 

the  first : 

(Damon  sings.) 
Rise,  fair  star  of  the  morning,  and  herald  the  genial 

day. 
I,  whom  a  passion  for  Nysa  the  false  has  served  to 

betray,  » 

Here  will  lament ;    and  to   gods  —  whose  presence 

attested  in  vain 
Naught  has  availed  me  —  in  death's  last  hour  once 

more  will  complain. 
Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mae- 

nalus 1  strain. 

Maenalus  ever  has  forests  that  sing  to  him ;  ever  a 


Speaks  in  his  pines ;  to  the  loves  of  the  shepherds  he 
listens  for  aye ;  25 

Hears  Fan  piping,  who  brooked  not  that  reeds  should 
idle  remain. 

Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mae- 
nalus strain. 

1  M t  Maenalus  in  Arcadia  was  a  haunt  of  Pan,  the  god  of  shep- 
herds. 


DAMON  AND  ALPHESIBOEUS  203 

Nysa  with  Mopsus l  weds  ;   what  next  is  a  lover  to 

see? 
Soon  will  the  griffin  be  matched  with  the  mare,  and 

in  summers  to  be 
Timid  fawns  with  the  hounds  come  down  to  the  pools 

on  the  plain.  so 

Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mae- 

nalus  strain. 

Hew  fresh  torches  2  the  bridal  to  grace ;  thy  bride  is 

in  sight, 
Mopsus  —  the    bridegroom    thou  —  go    scatter    the 

nuts  8  to  her  train ! 
Hesper  4  from  Oeta's  summit  for  thee  sails  into  the 

night. 
Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mae- 

nalus  strain.  15 

Worthy  the  lord  they  give  thee  to  wed,  who  scornest 
the  world, 

Holdest  the  pipe  of  the  shepherd  and  these  poor  goats 
in  disdain, 

Thinkest  light  of  a  brow  untrimmed  and  a  beard  un- 
curled, 

Deeming  the  gods  untroubled  by  mortal  passion  and 
pain! 

Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mac- 
nalus  strain.  40 

1  His  rival. 

*  The  bride  was  escorted  in  torchlight  procession  from  her  old 
home  to  the  bridegroom's  house. 

8  Nuts  were  scattered  among  those  who  took  part  in  the  procession. 

*  The  evening  star  rises  over  Mt.  Oeta.      The  scene   is  laid  in 
Thessaly,  which  was  famous  for  its  witchcraft 


204  VIRGIL 

'T  was  in  our  crofts  I  saw  thee,  a  girl  thy  mother  be- 
side, 

Plucking  the  apples  dewy,  myself  thy  pilot  and 
guide; 

Years  I  had  finished  eleven,  the  twelfth  was  begin- 
ning to  reign ; 

Scarce  was  I  able  to  reach  from  the  ground  to  the 
branches  that  snapped. 

Ah,  when  I  saw  !  how  I  perished !  to  fatal  folly  was 
rapt!  45 

Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mae- 
nalus  strain. 

Now  have  I  learned  what  love  is.  Among  rocks  sav- 
age and  wild 

Tmaros 1  or  Rhodope J  bare  him  or  far  Garainantes 2 
for  child,  — 

Mortal  his  lineage  is  not,  nor  human  blood  in  his  veins. 

Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mae- 
nalus  strains.  so 

Fell  love   taught  one  mother8  her  sinful  hands  to 

imbrue 
Once  in  her  children's   blood,  and  the  mother  was 

heartless  too. 
Heartless  the  mother  most  ?  Or  was  love  more  cruel 

and  fell  ? 
Cruel  was  love;  thou  also,  the  mother,  heartless  as 

well. 
Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mae- 

nalus  strain.  » 

1  Names  of  mountains  :  Tmaros  in  Epirus,  Rhodope  in  Thrace. 
3  A  savage  tribe  in  the  interior  of  Africa. 
8  Medea. 


DAMON  AND  ALPHESIBOEUS  205 

Now  let  the  wolf  turn  tail  to  the  sheep ;  oaks  stubborn 
have  power 

Apples  golden  to  bear,  on  the  alder  the  daffodil 
flower ! 

Droppings  of  amber  rich  from  the  bark  of  the  tama- 
risk rain ; 

Screech-owls  vie  with  the  swan,  and  to  Orpheus 
Tityrus l  change ; 

Orpheus  play  for  the  woods,  as  Arion  2  with  dolphins 
range.  eo 

Begin,  my  flute  of  the  mountains,  with  me  my  Mae- 
nalus  strain. 

Nay,  let  the  sea  drown  all.     Farewell  to  the  woods. 

I  will  leap 
Here  from  this  mountain  crest  that  for  ever  watches 

the  deep ; 
This  death-song  of  the  dying  for  last  sad  gift  let  her 

keep. 
Cease,  my  flute,  it  is  ended,  the  Maenalus  mountain 

refrain.  K 

Thus   sang  Damon.     The   answer  of    Alphesiboeus 

again, 
Muses,  recount!    Frail  mortals  to  all  things  cannot 

attain. 

(Alphesiboeus  sings.^) 
Fetch  me  the  water;   with  soft  wreaths  circle  the 

altar  divine ; 
Burn  to  the  gods  rich  boughs,  heap  frankincense  on 

the  fire ; 

1  Used  here  for  any  shepherd. 

2  According  to  the  fable  he  was  saved  from  drowning  by  a  dol- 
phin which  he  had  charmed  by  his  music. 


206  VIRGIL 

So  to  the  passionless  heart  of  this  ice-cold  lover  of 
mine  70 

I  may  reach  with  my  magic ;  it  is  but  a  chant  we 
require. 

Homeward  bring  from  the  city,  my  chants,  bring 
Daphnis  again. 

Chants  from  her  heavenly  station  can  draw  down  even 

the  moon ! 

Circe  once  with  a  chant  transformed  Ulysses'  train. 
Cold  snakes  split  in  the  meadows  asunder  with  chant 

and  with  tune  !  75 

Homeward  bring  from  the   city,  my  chants,  bring 

Daphnis  again. 

These  three  threads,  each  tinted  a  separate  color,  I 

twine 
Hound  thee  first  in  a  circle ;  and  thrice  these  altars 

around 
Carry  the  image  —  a  number  uneven  is  dear  to  the 

shrine ;  — 
In  three  knots,  Amaryllis, 1  let  each  of  the  colours  be 

wound.  so 

Wind  them,  prithee,  and  cry,  "  I  am  weaving  Venus's 

chain." 
Homeward   bring  from  the  city,  my  chants,  bring 

Daphnis  again. 

As  in  a  fire  that  is  one  and  the  same,  grows  harder 

the  clay, 
Softer  the  wax,  may  Daphnis  be  wrought  by  passion 

to-day. 

1  She  addresses  herself. 


DAMON  AND  ALPHESIBOEUS  207 

Crumble  the  cake,  let  the  boughs  of  the  bay-tree 
crackle  and  blaze.  85 

Daphnis  has  fired  me  with  passion,  I  light  over 
Daphnis  the  bays. 

Homeward  bring  from  the  city,  my  chants,  bring 
Daphnis  again. 

May  such  love  upon  Daphnis  be  laid  as  the  heifer's, 

who  hies 
Wearily  after  her  mate  through  the  forest  and  hills 

in  the  quest.  89 

Down  by  the  river  bank  upon  greenest  sedges  she  lies, 
Lost  in  her  grief,  nor  remembers  at  nightfall  late  to 

arise. 
Such  may  his  love  be,  nor  I  care  ever  to  heal  his 

unrest. 
Homeward   bring  from   the   city,  my  chants,  bring 

Daphnis  again. 

These  worn  garments  he  left  me,  my  faithless  love,  as 

he  went ; 
Pledges  dear  of  himself;  —  by  the  door  let  them 

buried  remain.  as 

Hold  them,  O  Earth !  they  are  pledges,  and  owe  me 

the  Daphnis  I  lent. 
Homeward   bring  from   the   city,  my  chants,  bring 

Daphnis  again. 

These    green    herbs,    these    poisons    from    Pontus1 

gathered  in  bloom, 
Moeris  2  gave  me  ;  in  plenty  they  grow  on  the  Pontus 

plain ; 

1  On  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea. 

2  A  shepherd  and  sorcerer. 


208  VIRGIL 

Often  the  form  of  a  wolf  with  these  I  have  seen  him 
assume,  100 

And  in  the  forests  plunge,  or  the  ghosts  call  forth  from 
the  tomb, 

Often  remove  to  an  alien  field  rich  harvests  of  grain. 

Homeward  bring  from  the  city,  my  chants,  bring 
Daphnis  again. 

Carry  the  ashes  without,  Amaryllis,  and  into  the  brook 
Over  thy  shoulders  fling  them,  nor  venture  behind 

thee  to  look !  105 

These  are  for  Daphnis  ;  he  recks  nor  of  gods  nor 

magical  strain. 
Homeward    bring  from  the   city,  my  chants,  bring 

Daphnis  again. 

Look !     As  I  linger  to  take  it,  the  cinder  itself  from 

the  grate 
Catches  the  altar  with  flickering  flames.     Good  luck 

on  us  wait ! 
Ay,  there  is  something  surely,  and  Hylax  barks  at 

the  gate !  no 

Ought  I  to  hope  ?  Or  do  lovers  their  own  dreams 

fashion  in  vain  ? 
Cease,   my  chants.     From   the  city   he  comes,   my 

Daphnis,  again. 

SIB  CHARLES  BOWKN. 


RULES  OF  HUSBANDRY 
(Geotgios,  L,  176-203.) 

MANY  the  precepts  of  the  men  of  old, 
I  can  recount  thee,  so  thou  start  not  back, 
And  such  slight  cares  to  learn  not  weary  thee. 


RULES  OF  HUSBANDRY  209 

And  this  among  the  first :  Your  threshing-floor 

With  ponderous  roller  must  be  levelled  smooth,          5 

And  wrought  by  hand,  and  fixed  with  binding  chalk, 

Lest  weeds  arise,  or  dust  a  passage  win 

Splitting  the  surface,  then  a  thousand  plagues 

Make  sport  of  it :  oft  builds  the  tiny  mouse 

Her  home,  and  plants  her  granary,  underground,       10 

Or  burrow  for  their  bed  the  purblind  moles, 

Or  toad  is  found  in  hollows,  and  all  the  swarm 

Of  earth's  unsightly  creatures  ;  or  a  huge 

Corn-heap  the  weevil  plunders,  and  the  ant, 

Fearful  of  coming  age  and  penury.  is 

Mark  too,  what  time  the  walnut  in  the  woods 

With  ample  bloom  shall  clothe  her,  and  bow  down 

Her  odorous  branches :  if  the  fruit  prevail, 

Like  store  of  grain  will  follow,  and  there  shall  come 

A  mighty  winnowing-time  with  mighty  heat ;  20 

But  if  the  shade  with  wealth  of  leaves  abound, 

Vainly  your  threshing-floor  will  bruise  the  stalks 

Swoln  but  with  chaff.     Many  myself  have  seen 

Steep,  as  they  sow,  their  pulse-seeds,  drenching  them 

With  lees  of  oil  and  natron,  that  the  fruit  25 

Might  swell  within  the  treacherous  pods,  and  they 

Make  speed  to  boil  at  howso'  small  a  fire. 

Yet,  culled  with  caution,  proved  with  patient  toil, 

These  have  I  seen  degenerate,  did  not  man 

Put  forth  his  hand  with  power,  and  year  by  year       30 

Choose  out  the  largest.     So,  by  fate  impelled, 

Speed  all  things  to  the  worse,  and  backward  borne 

Glide  from  us  ;  even  as  who  with  struggling  oars 

Up  stream  scarce  pulls  a  shallop,  if  his  arms 

Relax  but  for  one  moment,  and  the  boat  35 

Is  headlong  swept  adown  the  hurrying  tide. 

JAMES  RHOADES. 


210  VIRGIL 

SIGNS  OF  BAD  WEATHER 

(Georgica,  L,  351-392.) 

AY,  and  that  these  things  we  might  win  to  know 
By  certain  tokens,  heats  and  showers,  and  winds 
That  bring  the  frost,  the  Sire  of  all  himself 
Ordained  what  warnings  in  her  monthly  round 
The  moon  should  give,  what  bodes  the  south  wind's 

fall;  s 

What  oft-repeated  sights  the  herdsman  seeing 
Should  keep  his  cattle  closer  to  their  stalls. 
No  sooner  are  the  winds  at  point  to  rise, 
Than  either  Ocean's  firths  begin  to  toss 
And  swell,  and  a  dry  crackling  sound  is  heard  10 

Upon  the  heights,  or  one  loud  ferment  booms 
The  beach  afar,  and  through  the  forest  goes 
A  murmur  multitudinous.     By  this 
Scarce  can  the  billow  spare  the  curved  keels, 
When  swift  the  sea-gulls  from  the  middle  main         is 
Come  winging,  and  their  shrieks  are  shoreward  borne, 
When  ocean-loving  cormorants  on  dry  land 
Besport  them,  and  the  hern,  her  marshy  haunts 
Forsaking,  mounts  above  the  soaring  cloud. 
Oft,  too,  when  wind  is  toward,  the  stars  thou  'It  see    20 
From   heaven   shoot   headlong,  and  through  murky 

night 

Long  trails  of  fire  white-glistening  in  their  wake, 
Or  light  chaff  flit  in  air  with  fallen  leaves, 
Or  feathers  on  the  wave-top  float  and  play. 
But  when  from  regions  of  the  furious  North  as 

It  lightens,  and  when  thunder  fills  the  halls 
Of  Eurus l  and  of  Zephyr,  all  the  fields 

1  The  southeast  wind. 


SIGNS  OF  BAD   WEATHER  211 

With  brimming  dykes  are  flooded,  and  at  sea 

No  mariner  but  furls  his  dripping  sails. 

Never  at  unawares  did  shower  annoy :  so 

Or,  as  it  rises,  the  high-soaring  cranes 

Flee  to  the  vales  before  it,  or,  with  face 

Upturned  to  heaven,  the  heifer  snuffs  the  gale 

Through  gaping  nostrils,  or  about  the  meres 

Shrill-twittering  flits  the  swallow,  and  the  frogs         35 

Crouch  in  the  mud  and  chant  their  dirge  of  old. 

Oft,  too,  the  ant  from  out  her  inmost  cells, 

Fretting  the  narrow  path,  her  eggs  conveys ; 

Or  the  huge  bow  sucks  moisture  ;  or  a  host 

Of  rooks  from  food  returning  in  long  line  40 

Clamor  with  jostling  wings.     Now  mayst  thou  see 

The  various  ocean-fowl  and  those  that  pry 

Round  Asian  meads 1  within  thy  freshet-pools, 

Cayster,  as  in  eager  rivalry, 

About  their  shoulders  dash  the  plenteous  spray,        45 

Now  duck  their  head  beneath  the  wave,  now  run 

Into  the  billows,  for  sheer  idle  joy 

Of  their  mad  bathing-revel.     Then  the  crow 

With  full  voice,  good-for-naught,  inviting  rain, 

Stalks  on  the  dry  sand  mateless  and  alone.  so 

Nor  e'en  the  maids,  that  card  their  nightly  task, 

Know  not  the  storm-sign,  when  in  blazing  crock 

They  see  the  lamp-oil  sputtering  with  a  growth 

Of  mouldy  snuff-clots. 

JAMES  KHOADES. 

1  The  meadows  beside  the  river  Cayster  in  Ionia. 


212  VIRGIL 

AFTER  CAESAR'S  DEATH 

(Oeorgics,  I.,  466-514.) 

HE  *  too  it  was,  when  Caesar's  light  was  quenched, 
For  Rome  had  pity,  when  his  bright  head  he  veiled 
In  iron-hued  darkness,  till  a  godless  age 
Trembled  for  night  eternal ;  at  that  time 
Howbeit  earth  also,  and  the  ocean-plains,  5 

And  dogs  obscene,  and  birds  of  evil  bode 
Gave  tokens.     Yea,  how  often  have  we  seen 
Etna,  her  furnace-walls  asunder  riven, 
In  billowy  floods  boil  o'er  the  Cyclops'  fields,2 
And  roll  down  globes  of  fire  and  molten  rocks !          10 
A  clash  of  arms  through  all  the  heaven  was  heard 
By  Germany  ;  strange  heavings  shook  the  Alps. 
Yea,  and  by  many  through  the  breathless  groves 
A  voice  was  heard  with  power,  and  wondrous-pale 
Phantoms  were  seen  upon  the  dusk  of  night,  is 

And  cattle  spake,  portentous  !  streams  stand  still, 
And  the  earth  yawns  asunder,  ivory  weeps 
For  sorrow  in  the  shrines,  and  bronzes  sweat. 
Up-twirling  forests  with  his  eddying  tide, 
Madly  he  bears  them  down,  that  lord  of  floods,          20 
Eridanus,8  till  through  all  the  plain  are  swept 
Beasts  and  their  stalls  together.     At  that  time 
In  gloomy  entrails  ceased  not  to  appear 
Dark-threatening  fibres,  springs  to  trickle  blood, 
And  high-built  cities  night-long  to  resound  25 

With  the  wolves'  howling.     Never  more  than  then 
From  skies  all  cloudless  fell  the  thunderbolts, 

1  The  nun.     An  eclipse  took  place  in  November  of  the  year  of  the 
assassination,  and  there  were  rumors  of  many  portents. 
3  Sicily,  the  fabled  home  of  the  Cyclops. 
8  The  river  Po. 


ITALY  213 

Nor  blazed  so  oft  the  comet's  fire  of  bale. 
Therefore  a  second  time  1  Philippi  saw 
The  Roman  hosts,  with  kindred  weapons  rush  so 

To  battle,  nor  did  the  high  gods  deem  it  hard 
That  twice  Emathia  2  and  the  wide  champaign 
Of  Haemus  3  should  be  fattening  with  our  blood. 
Ay,  and  the  time  will  come  when  thereanigh, 
Heaving  the  earth  up  with  his  curved  plough,  35 

Some  swain  will  light  on  javelins  by  foul  rust 
Corroded,  or  with  ponderous  harrow  strike 
On  empty  helmets,  while  he  gapes  to  see 
Bones  as  of  giants  from  the  trench  untombed. 

JAMES  BHOADES. 

ITALY 

(Georgics,  II,  136-176.) 

• 

Bur  no,  not  Mede-land  with  its  wealth  of  woods, 
Fair  Ganges,  Hermus  4  thick  with  golden  silt, 
Can  match  the  praise  of  Italy ;  nor  Ind, 
Nor  Bactria,5  nor  Panchaia,6  one  wide  tract 
Of  incense-teeming  sand.     Here  never  bulls  5 

With  nostrils  snorting  fire  upturned  the  sod 
Sown  with  the  monstrous  dragon's  teeth,  nor  crop 
Of  warriors  bristled  thick  with  lance  and  helm  ; 
But  heavy  harvests  and  the  Massic  7  juice 

1  Virgil's  geography  is  vague.    The  decisive  battle  between  Caesar 
and  Pompey  had  been  fought  at  Pharsalia  in  Thessaly.     Philippi, 
where  Brutus  and  Cassius  were  defeated  by  Octavian  and  Antony, 
was  in  Macedonia. 

2  A  part  of  Macedonia. 
8  The  Balkan  range. 

4  A  river  in  Aeolis  in  Asia  Minor. 

5  Properly  Bactra,  the  capital  of  the  province  of  Bactriana  in  Asia. 

6  The  fabulous  spice-isle  off  the  coast  of  Arabia. 

7  Mous  Massicus  in  Campania  was  famous  for  its  vineyards. 


214  VIRGIL 

Of  Bacchus  fill  its  borders,  overspread  10 

With  fruitful  flocks  and  olives.     Hence  arose 

The  war-horse  stepping  proudly  o'er  the  plain ; 

Hence  thy  white  flocks,  Clitumnus,1  and  the  bull, 

Of  victims  mightiest,  which  full  oft  have  led, 

Bathed  in  thy  sacred  stream,  the  triumph-pomp         is 

Of  Romans  to  the  temples  of  the  gods. 

Here  blooms  perpetual  spring,  and  summer  here 

In  months  that  are  not  summer's ;   twice  teem   the 

flocks ; 

Twice  doth  the  tree  yield  service  of  her  fruit. 
But  ravening  tigers  come  not  nigh,  nor  breed  20 

Of  savage  lion,  nor  aconite  betrays 
Its  hapless  gatherers,  nor  with  sweep  so  vast 
Doth  the  scaled  serpent  trail  his  endless  coils 
Along  the  ground,  or  wreathe  him  into  spires. 
Mark  too  her  cities,  so  many  and  so  proud,  25 

Of  mighty  toil  the  achievement,  town  on  town 
Up  rugged  precipices  heaved  and  reared, 
And  rivers  undergliding  ancient  walls. 
Or  should  I  celebrate  the  sea  that  laves  29 

Her  upper  2  shores  and  lower  ?  8  or  those  broad  lakes  ? 
Thee,  Larius,4  greatest  and,  Benacus,5  thee 
With  billowy  uproar  surging  like  the  main  ? 
Or  sing  her  harbors,  and  the  barrier  cast 
Athwart  the  Lucrine,6  and  how  ocean  chafes 
With  mighty  bellowings,  where  the  Julian  wave        ss 

1  A  river  of  Umbria,  in  the  neighborhood  of  which  a  famous  breed 
of  white  cattle  was  reared. 

a  The  Adriatic  Sea.  8  The  Tyrrhenian  Sea. 

4  Lago  di  Como.  6  Lago  di  Garda. 

6  Lucrinus  and  Avermis  were  two  small  lakes  on  the  Campanian 
coast,  connected  with  the  sea  and  with  one  another  .by  a  channel,  and 
used  as  a  harbor.  A  strong  breakwater  had  been  built  by  Ootavian 
on  the  strip  of  land  that  separated  Lucriuus  from  the  sea. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BEES      215 

Echoes  the  thunder  of  his  rout,  and  through 

Avernian  inlets  pours  the  Tuscan  tide  ? 

A  land  no  less  that  in  her  veins  displays 

Rivers  of  silver,  mines  of  copper  ore, 

Ay,  and  with  gold  hath  flowed  abundantly.  40 

A  land  that  reared  a  valiant  breed  of  men, 

The  Marsi 1  and  Sabellian  youth,  and,  schooled 

To  hardship,  the  Ligurian,  and  with  these 

The  Volscian  javelin-armed,  the  Decii  2  too, 

The  Marii  and  Camilli,  names  of  might,  45 

The  Scipios,  stubborn  warriors,  ay  and  thee, 

Great  Caesar,  who  in  Asia's  3  utmost  bounds 

With  conquering  arm  e'en  now  art  driving  back 

The  unwarlike  Indian  from  the  heights  of  Rome. 

Hail,  land  of  Saturn,4  mighty  mother  thou  eo 

Of  fruits  and  heroes  ;  't  is  for  thee  I  dare 

Unseal  the  sacred  fountains,  and  essay 

Themes  of  old  art  and  glory,  as  I  sing 

The  song  of  Ascra  5  through  the  towns  of  Home. 

JAMES  RHOADES. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BEES 
(Qeorgics,  IV.,  67-85.) 

Bur  if  to  battle  they  have  hied  them  forth  — 
For  oft  'twixt  king  and  king  with  uproar  dire 

1  The  Marsi,  Sabelli,  and  Volscians  belonged   to  the  Urabrian 
stock.     The  Ligurians  were  of  doubtful  origin. 

2  Here  and  in  the  names  that  follow  the  reference  is  to  distin- 
guished Roman  families. 

8  After  the  battle  of  Actium  Octavian  made  a  triumphal  progress 
through  Syria,  Palestine,  and  Asia  Minor. 

4  Saturn  was  said  to  have  dwelt  in  Italy  during  the  Golden  Age. 

6  A  town  in  Boeotia,  the  native  place  of  Hesiod,  whose  Works 
and  Days  had  a  strong  influence  upon  Virgil's  Georgics. 


216  VIRGIL 

Fierce  feud  arises,  and  at  once  from  far 

You  may  discern  what  passion  sways  the  mob, 

And  how  their  hearts  are  throbbing  for  the  strife ;     5 

Hark  !  the  hoarse  brazen  note  that  warriors  know 

Chides  on  the  loiterers,  and  the  ear  may  catch 

A  sound  that  mocks  the  war-trump's  broken  blasts ; 

Then  in  hot  haste  they  muster,  then  flash  wings, 

Sharpen  their  pointed  beaks  and  knit  their  thews,     10 

And  round  the  king,  even  to  his  royal  tent, 

Throng  rallying,  and  with  shouts  defy  the  foe. 

So  when  a  dry  spring  and  clear  space  is  given, 

Forth  from  the  gates  they  burst,  they  clash  on  high  ; 

A  din  arises  ;  they  are  heaped  and  rolled  is 

Into  one  mighty  mass,  and  headlong  fall, 

Not  denselier  hail  through  heaven,  nor  pelting  so 

Rains  from  the  shaken  oak  its  acorn-shower. 

Conspicuous  by  their  wings,  the  chiefs  themselves 

Press  through  the  heart  of  battle,  and  display  20 

A  giant's  spirit  in  each  pigmy  frame, 

Steadfast  no  inch  to  yield  till  these  or  those 

The  victor's  ponderous  arm  has  turned  to  flight. 

JAMES  RHOADES. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES 

(Aeneid,  VI.) 

WEEPING  he  spake,  then  gave  to  his  flying  vessels  the 

rein, 
Gliding  at  last  on  the  wind  to  Euboean  Cumae's1 

plain. 

1  On  the  coast  of  Campania.     It  was  colonized  from  Chalcis  in 
Eoboea. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         217 

Seaward  the  bows  are  pointed,  an  anchor's  hook  to 

the  land 
Fastens  the  ships,  and  the  sterns  in  a  long  line  border 

the  strand. 
Troy's  young  warriors  leap  with  exultant  hearts  from 

the  bark  5 

Forth  upon  Italy's  soil.     Some  look  for   the  fiery 

spark 
Hid  in  the  secret  veins  of  the  flint ;  some  scour  the 

profound 
Forest,  and  wild  beasts'  cover,  and  show  where  waters 

abound. 
While  the    devout  Aeneas   a  temple   seeks  on   the 

height, 
Fhoebus's  mountain  throne,  and  a  cavern  vast  as  the 

night,  10 

Where  in  mysterious  darkness  the  terrible  Sibyl l  lies, 
Maiden  upon  whose  spirit   the   Delian  seer2  of  the 

skies 
Breathes  his  immortal  thought,  and  the  knowledge  of 

doom  untold. 
Soon  they  arrive  at  Diana's  grove  and  her  palace  of 

gold- 
Flying,  as  legends  tell,  from  the  thraldom  of  Minos  3 

the  king,  is 

Daedalus,4  trusting  the  heavens,  set  forth  on  adven- 
turous wing ; 
Sailed  for  the  ice-bound  north  by  a  way  unimagined 

and  strange ; 
Airily  poising  at  last  upon  this  Chalcidian  range, 

1  The  Cumaean  SibyL  2  Apollo. 

8  King  of  Crete. 

4  The  famous  artisan  of  Attic  and  Cretan  mythology. 


218  VIRGIL 

Here  first  touching  the  land,  to  Apollo  hallowed  his 
light  w 

Oarage  of  wings ;  and  a  temple  colossal  built  on  the  site. 

Graved  on  the  doors  is  the  death  of  Androgeos ; l 
yonder  in  turn 

Attica's  land,  condemned  each  year  in  atonement  to 
yield 

Seven  of  her  children  ;  the  lots  are  drawn,  still  stand- 
ing the  urn ; 

Rising  from  midmost  ocean,  to  match  them,  Crete  is 
revealed. 

Here  is  the  gloomy  romance  of  the  bull,  Pasiphae's  2 
blind  as 

Passion ;  and  twiformed  Minotaur,3  two  bodies  com- 
bined, 

Record  of  lawless  love  ;  there,  marvellous  labor,  were 
shaped 

Palace  and  winding  mazes,4  from  whence  no  feet  had 
escaped, 

Had  not  Daedalus  pitied  the  lorn  princess6  and  her 
love, 

And  of  himself  unentangled  the  woven  trick  of  the 
grove,  so 

Guiding  her  savior's  6  steps  with  a  thread.  Thee,  too, 
he  had  wrought, 

1  Son  of  Minos,  killed  by  the  bull  of  Marathon,  with  which  Aegeua, 
king  of  Attica,  had  forced  him  to  fight.  To  avenge  his  death  Minos 
made  war  upon  Attica,  and  compelled  the  Athenians  to  send  once  in 
every  nine  years  seven  boys  and  seven  girls  to  Crete,  to  be  devoured 
by  the  Minotaur. 

8  Wife  of  Minos. 

8  A  monster  with  the  body  of  a  man  and  the  head  of  a  bull. 

4  The  Minotaur  was  kept  in  the  labyrinth  built  by  Daedalus. 

6  Ariadne,  daughter  of  Minos,  who  fell  in  love  with  Theseus,  son 
of  Aegens,  when  he  came  from  Athens  to  kill  the  Minotaur. 

0  Theseus. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES          219 

Icarus,1  into  the  picture,  had  grief   not   baffled   the 

thought. 
Twice  he  essayed  upon  gold  to  engrave  thine  agony, 

twice 
Faltered  the  hands  of   the  father,  and   fell.     Each 

noble  device 
Long  their  eyes  had  perused,  but  Achates  2  now  is  in 

sight ;  35 

With  him   the  priestess    comes,   dread    servant  of 

Phoebus  and  Night, 

Daughter  of  Glaucus  the  seer.     To  the  Trojan  mon- 
arch she  cries : 
"  'T  is  not  an  hour,  Aeneas,  for  feasting  yonder  thine 

eyes. 
Better  to  slaughter  from  herds  unyoked  seven  oxen 

and  seven 
Ewes  of  the  yester  year,   as  a  choice  oblation   to 

Heaven."  40 

Then,  as  the  ministers  hasten  the  rites  ordained  to 

prepare, 
Into  the  depth  of  the  temple  she  bids  Troy's  children 

repair. 

There  is  a  cavern  hewn  in  the  mountain's  enormous 

side, 
Keached  by  a  hundred  gates,  and  a  hundred  passages 

wide. 
Thence  roll  voices  a  hundred,  the  seer's  revelations 

divine.  45 

When  by  the  doors  they  stood :  "  'T  is  the  hour  to 

inquire  of  the  shrine," 

1  Son  of  Daedalus,  who  was  drowned  while  attempting  to  accom- 
pany his  father's  flight  from  Crete. 

2  Aeneas'  faithful  companion. 


220  VIRGIL 

Cried  the  illumined  maiden  :  "  The  God !  lo,  here  is 

the  God!" 
Even  as  she  spake,  while  still  on  the  threshold  only 

she  trod, 
Sudden  her  countenance  altered,  her  cheek  grew  pale 

as  in  death, 
Loose  and  disordered  her  fair  hair  flew,  heart  panted 

for  breath,  so 

Bosom  with  madness  heaved.     More  lofty  than  wo- 
man's her  frame, 
More   than    mortal    her  voice,  as  the  presence  of 

Deity  came 
Nearer  upon  her.     "And  art  thou  slow  to  petition 

the  shrine, 
Troy's  Aeneas  a  laggard   at  prayer?  —  nought  else 

will  incline 
This  charmed  temple,"  she  cries,  "  its  colossal  doors 

to  unclose."  55 

Then  stands  silent.     The  veteran  bones  of  the  Teu- 

crians l  froze, 
Chilled  with  terror,  and  prayer  from  the  heart  of  the 

monarch  arose : 
"  Phoebus  !   compassionate  ever  to  Troy  in  the  hour 

of  her  woe, 
Who  against  haughty  Achilles  of  old  didst  prosper 

the  bow  59 

Bent  by  the  Dardan  Paris,  beneath  thine  auspices  led 
Many  a  sea  I  have  travelled  around  great  continents 

spread, 
Far  as  Massylian2  tribes  and  the  quicksands  lining 

their  plain. 
Italy's  vanishing  regions,  behold,  thy  people  attain  I 

1  The  Trojans. 

2  On  the  north  coast  of  Africa. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES          221 

Here  may  the  evil  fate  of  the  Trojans  leave  us  at  last ! 
Spare,  for  'tis  mercy's  hour,  this  remnant  of  Per- 

gama's 1  race,  « 

Gods  and  goddesses  all,  whose  jealous  eyes  in  the  past 
Looked  upon  Ilion's  l  glories !     From  thee  I  implore 

one  grace, 
Prophet  of  Heaven,  dark  seer  of  the  future.     Grant 

us  the  debt, 
Long  by  the  destinies  owed  us  —  a  kingdom  promised 

of  yore  — 
Foot  upon  Latium's  borders  at  length  may  Teucrians 

set,  70 

Bearing  their  household  gods  by  the  tempests  tossed 

evermore ! 
I,  their  votary  grateful,  in   Phoebus'  and  Trivia's2 

praise 

Hewn  from  the  solid  marble  a  glorious  fane  will  raise, 
Call  by  Apollo's  name  his  festival.     Also  for  thee 
Shall  in  our  future  kingdom  a  shrine  imperial  be.     75 
There  shall  thine  own  dark  sayings,  the  mystic  fates 

of  our  line, 
Gracious  seer,  be  installed,  and  a  priesthood  chosen 

be  thine. 
Only  entrust  not  to  leaves  thy  prophecy,   maiden 

divine, 
Lest   in   disorder,   the   light  winds'   sport,   they  be 

driven  on  the  air ; 
Chant  thyself  the  prediction."     His  lips  here  ended 

from  prayer.  so 

Still  untamed  of  Apollo,  to  stature  terrible  grown, 
Eaves  the  prophetic  maid  in  her  cavern,  fain  to  de- 
throne 

1  Troy.  2  Diana. 


222  VIRGIL 

This  great  God  who  inspires  her  —  the  more  with  bit 

doth  he  school 
Fiery  mouth  and  rebellious  bosom  and  mould  her  to 

rule. 
Wide  on  a  sudden  the  hundred  enormous  mouths  of 

her  lair  s> 

Fly,  6f  themselves  unclosing,  and  answer  floats  on  the 

air : 
"  Thou  who  hast  ended  at  last  with  the  dangers  dread 

of  the  sea, 
Greater  on  land  still  wait  thee.    Lavinium's l  kingdom 

afar 
Teucria's  children  shall  find  —  of  that  ancient  terror 

be  free  — 
Yet  shall  repent  to  have  found  it.     I  see  grim  visions 

of  war,  90 

Tiber  foaming  with  blood.    Once  more  shall  a  Simois  2 

flow, 
Xanthus  be  there  once   more,  and  the   tents  of  a 

Dorian  3  foe. 
Yonder   in   Latium    rises    a  second   Achilles,4  and 

born, 
Even  as  the  first,  of  a  goddess ;   and  neither  at  night 

nor  at  morn 
Ever    shall  Juno    leave  thee,   the   Trojans'   enemy 

sworn,  95 

While  thou  pleadest  for  succor,  besieging  in  misery 

sore 
Each  far  people  and  city  around  Ausonia's  6  shore  ! 

1  The  city  founded  by  Aeneas  in  Latium. 

2  The  Simois  and   Xanthus  were  the  two  rivers  which  flowed 
through  the  Trojan  plain. 

8  Greek. 

4  Turnus,  chief  of  the  Kutuli. 

6  Italy. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         223 

So  shall  a  bride l  from  the  stranger  again  thy  nation 

destroy, 
Once  more  foreign  espousals  a  great  woe  bring  upon 

Troy. 
Yield  not  thou  to  disasters,  confront  them  boldly,  and 

more  100 

Boldly  —  as  fortune  suffers  —  and  first  from  a  town 

of  the  Greek,2 
Marvel  to  say,  shall  be  shown  thee  the  way  salvation 

to  seek." 

So  from  her  awful  shrine  the  Cumaean  Sibyl  intones 
Fate's  revelation  dread,  till  the  cavern   echoes  her 

groans, 
Robing  her  truths  in  gloom.     So  shakes,  as  she  fumes 

in  unrest,  105 

Phoebus  his  bridle  reins,  while  plunging  the  spur  in 

her  breast. 
After  her  madness  ceased  and  her  lips  of  frenzy  were 

stiU, 

Thus  Aeneas  replied :  "  No  vision,  lady,  of  ill 
Comes  unimagined  now  to  the  exile  here  at  thy  door ; 
Each  has  he  counted  and  traversed  already  in  spirit 

before.  no 

One  sole  grace  I  entreat  —  since  these  be  the  gates, 

it  is  said, 
Sacred  to  Death  and  the  twilight  lake  by  the  Acheron  3 

fed- 
Leave  to  revisit  the  face  of  the  sire  4  I  have  loved  so 

well ; 
Teach  me  the  way  thyself,  and  unlock  yon  portals  of  hell. 

1  Aeneas  married  Lavinia,  daughter  of  king  Latinus,  who  had  been 
previously  betrothed  to  Turnus. 

2  Pallantenm,  the  city  of  Evander. 

8  One  of  the  rivers  of  Hades.  *  Anchises. 


224  VIRGIL 

This  was  the  sire  I  bore  on  my  shoulders  forth  from 

the  flame,  115 

Brought  through  a  thousand  arrows,  that  vexed  our 

flight  as  we  came, 
Safe  from  the  ranks  of  the  foeman.     He  shared  my 

journey  with  me ; 
Weak  as  he  was,  braved  ocean,  the  threats  of  sky  and 

of  sea ; 
More  than  the  common  strength  or  the  common  fate 

of  the  old. 
'T  is  at  his  bidding,  his  earnest  prayer  long  since,  I 

am  fain  120 

Thus  in  petition  to  seek  thy  gate.     With  compassion 

behold 
Father  and  son,  blest  maid,  for  untold  thy  power,  nor 

in  vain 
Over  the  groves  of  Avernus 1  hath  Hecate 2  set  thee 

to  reign. 
Grace  was  to  Orpheus  granted,  his  bride  from  the 

shadows  to  bring, 
Strong  in  the  power  of   his  lyre   and  its   sounding- 

Thracian  string.  125 

Still  in  his  turn  dies  Pollux,8  a  brother's  life  to  re- 
deem, 
Travels  and  ever  retravels  the  journey.     Why  of  the 

great 
Theseus  4  tell  thee,  or  why  of  Alcides  5  mighty  relate  ? 

1  Lake  Avernus  near  Comae,  where  there  was  supposed  to  be  an 
entrance  to  the  lower  world. 

2  Diana's  name  in  the  lower  world. 

8  Pollux  shared  his  immortality  with  his  brother  Castor,  who  had 
been  born  mortal.  They  lived  and  died  alternately. 

4  Thesus  descended  into  Hades  with  Pirithous  to  assist  him  in 
carrying  off  Proserpina. 

6  Hercules,  whose  twelfth  labor  was  to  bring  up  the  three-headed 
dog  Cerberus  from  Hades. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES        225 

My  race,  even  as  theirs,  is  descended  from  Jove  the 
supreme."  129 

So  evermore  he  repeated,  and  still  to  the  altar  he  clung. 

She  in  reply :  "  Great  Hero,  of  heaven's  high  lineage 
sprung, 

Son  of  Anchises  of  Troy,  the  descent  to  Avernus 1  is 
light; 

Death's  dark  gates  stand  open,  alike  through  the  day 
and  the  night. 

But  to  retrace  thy  steps  and  emerge  to  the  sunlight 
above, 

This  is  the  toil  and  the  trouble.  A  few,  whom  Jupi- 
ter's love  135 

Favors,  or  whose  bright  valor  has  raised  them  thence 
to  the  skies, 

Born  of  the  gods,  have  succeeded.  On  this  side 
wilderness  lies, 

Black  Cocytus  2  around  it  his  twilight  waters  entwines. 

Still,  if  such  thy  desire,  and  if  thus  thy  spirit  inclines 

Twice  to  adventure  the  Stygian  lake,3  twice  look  on 
the  dark  140 

Tartarus,4  and  it  delights  thee  on  quest  so  wild  to 
embark, 

Learn  what  first  to  perform.  On  a  tree  no  sun  that 
receives 

Hides  one  branch  all  golden  —  its  yielding  stem  and 
its  leaves  — 

Sacred  esteemed  to  the  queen  of  the  shadows.  For- 
ests of  night 

Cover  it,  sloping  valleys  enclose  it  around  from  the 
light.  145 

1  Here  used  to  designate  the  lower  world.        2  A  river  of  Hades. 

8  Where  the  river  Styx  widened. 

4  That  part  of  Hades  where  the  souls  of  the  wicked  abode. 


226  VIRGIL 

Subterranean  gloom  and  its  mysteries  only  may  be 
Reached  by  the  mortal  who  gathers  the  golden  growth 

of  the  tree. 
This  for  her  tribute  chosen  the  lovely  Proserpina1 

needs 

Aye  to  be  brought  her.     The  one  bough  broken,  an- 
other succeeds, 
Also  of  gold,  and  the  spray  bears  leaf  of  a  metal  as 

bright.  iso 

Deep  in  the  forest  explore,  and  if  once  thou  find  it 

aright, 
Pluck  it ;  the  branch  will  follow,  of  its  own  grace  and 

design, 
Should   thy  destiny  call   thee;   or  else   no  labor  of 

thine 
Ever  will  move  it,  nor  ever  thy  hatchet  conquer  its 

might. 
Yea,  and  the  corpse  of  a  friend,  although  thou  know'st 

not,"  she  saith,  155 

"Lies  upon  shore  unburied,  and   taints  thy  vessels 

with  death, 
While  thou  tarriest  here  at  the  gate  thy  future  to 

know. 
Carry  him  home  to  his  rest,  in  the  grave  his  body 

bestow ; 
Death's  black  cattle  provide  for  the  altar ;  give  to 

the  shades 
This  first  lustral   oblation,  and   so  on  the  Stygian 

glades,  i6o 

Even  on  realms  where  never  the  feet  of  the  living 

come, 
Thou  shalt  finally  look."     Then,  closing  her  lips,  she 

was  dumb. 

1  Queen  of  Hades. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES          227 

Sadly,  with  downcast  eyes,  Aeneas  turns  to  depart, 
Leaving  the  cave  ;  on  the  issues  dark  foretold  by  her 

words  164 

Pondering  much  in  his  bosom.   Achates,  trusty  of  heart, 
Paces  beside  him,  plunged  in  a  musing  deep  as  his 

lord's. 
Many  the  troubled  thoughts  that  in  ranging  talk  they 

pursue  — 
Who  is  the  dead  companion  the  priestess  spake  of, 

and  who 
Yonder  unburied  lies  ?     And  advancing  thither,  they 

find 

High  on  the  beach  Misenus,  to  death  untimely  con- 
signed, 170 
Aeolus-born l  Misenus,    than   whom    no    trumpeter 

bright 
Blew  more  bravely  for  battle,  or  fired  with  music  the 

fight; 
Comrade  of  Hector  great,  who  at  Hector's  side  to  the 

war 
Marched,  by  his  soldier's  spear  and  his  trumpet  known 

from  afar. 
After  triumphant  Achilles  his  master  slew  with  the 

sword,  ns 

Troy's  Aeneas  he  followed,  a  no  less  glorious  lord. 
Now  while  over  the  deep  he  was  sounding  his  clarion 

sweet, 

In  wild  folly  defying  the  Ocean  Gods  to  compete, 
Envious  Triton,2  lo  !  —  if  the  legend  merit  belief  — 
Drowned   him,  before  he  was  ware,  in  the  foaming 

waves  of  a  reef.  MO 

All  now,  gathered  around  him,  uplift  their  voices  in 

grief, 

1  Son  of  Aeolus  of  Troy.  2  Son  of  Neptune. 


228  VIRGIL 

Foremost  the  faithful  chieftain.     Anon  to  their  tasks 

they  hie ; 
Speed,  though  weeping  sorely,  the    Sibyl's  mission, 

and  vie, 
Building  the  funeral  altar  with  giant  trees  to  the 

sky. 

Into  the  forest  primeval,  the  beasts'  dark  cover,  they 

go;  m 

Pine-trees  fall  with  a  crash  and  the  holm-oaks  ring  to 

the  blow. 
Ash-hewn  timbers  and  fissile  oaks  with  the  wedges 

are  rent ; 
Massive  ash-trees  roll  from  the  mountains  down  the 

descent. 

Foremost  strides  Aeneas,  as  ever,  guiding  the  way, 
Cheering  his  men,  and  equipped  with  a  forester's  axe 

as  they.  190 

Long  in  his  own  sad  thoughts  he  is  plunged  —  then 

raising  his  eyes 
Over  the  measureless  forest,  uplifts  his  prayer  to  the 

skies. 
"  O  that  in  this  great  thicket  the  golden  branch  of 

the  tree 
Might  be  revealed  !     For  in  all  she  related  yonder  of 

thee  m 

Ever,  alas !  Misenus,  the  prophetess  spake  too  true." 
Lo !  at  the  words  twain  doves  came  down  through  the 

heavenly  blue, 
And  at  his  side  on  the  green  turf  lighted.     The  hero 

of  Troy 
Knows   the  celestial  birds  of  his  mother,1  and  cries 

with  joy : 

1  VenuB. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES        229 

"  Guide  us,  if  ever  a  way  be,  and  cleaving  swiftly  the 

skies, 
Wing  for  the  grove  where  in  shadow  a  golden  branch 

overlies  200 

One  all-favored  spot.     Nor  do  thou  in  an  hour  that 

is  dark, 
Mother,  desert  thy  son !  "     So  saying,  he  pauses  to 

mark 
What  be  the  omens,  and  whither  the  birds  go.     They 

in  their  flight, 
Soaring,  and  lighting  to  feed,  keep  still  in  the  Teu- 

crians'  sight. 
When  they  have  come  to  the  valley  of  baleful  Aver- 

nus,  the  pair,  205 

Shooting  aloft,  float  up  through  a  bright  and  radiant 

air; 
Both  on  a  tree  they  have  chosen  at  length  their  pin- 

*  ions  fold 
Through  whose   branches   of   green   is   a  wavering 

glimmer  of  gold. 

As  in  the  winter  forest  a  mistletoe  often  ye  see        209 
Bearing  a  foliage  young,  no  growth  of  its  own  oak-tree, 
Circling  the  rounded  boles  with  a  leafage  of  yellow- 
ing bloom ; 
Such  was  the  branching  gold,  as  it  shone  through  the 

holm-oak's  glooin, 

So  in  the  light  wind  rustled  the  foil.    Aeneas  with  bold 
Ardor  assails  it,  breaks  from  the  tree  the  reluctant 

gold ;  214 

Then  to  the  Sibyl's  palace  in  triumph  carries  it  home. 

Weeping  for  dead  Misenus  the  Trojan  host  on  the 

shore 
Now  to  his  thankless  ashes  the  funeral  offerings  bore. 


230  VIRGIL 

Rich  with  the  resinous  pine  and  in  oak-hewn  timbers 

cased 

Rises  a  giant  pyre,  in  its  sides  dark  foliage  laced ; 
Planted  in  front  stand  branches  of  cypress,  gifts  to 

the  grave  ;  220 

Over  it  hang  for  adornment  the  gleaming  arms  of  the 

brave. 

Some  heat  fountain  water,  the  bubbling  caldron  pre- 
pare; 
Clay-cold  limbs  then  wash  and  anoint.     Wail  sounds 

on  the  air. 
Dirge  at  an  end,  the  departed  is  placed  on  the  funeral 

bed ; 
O'er  him  they  fling  bright  raiment,  the  wonted  attire 

of  the  dead.  225 

Others  shoulder  the  ponderous  bier,  sad  service  of 

death ; 

Some  in  ancestral  fashion  the  lighted  torches  beneath 
Hold  with  averted  eyes.     High  blaze  on  the  burning 

pyre 
Incense,  funeral  viands,  and  oil  outpoured  on   the 

fire. 
After  the  ashes  have  fallen  and  flames  are  leaping  no 

more,  230 

Wine  on  the  smouldering  relics  and  cinders  thirsty 

they  pour. 
Next  in   a  vessel   of   brass  Corynaeus1  gathers  the 

bones, 

Thrice  bears  pure  spring  water  around  Troy's  sorrow- 
ing sons, 
Sprinkles  it  o'er  them  in  dew,  from  the  bough  of  an 

olive  in  bloom,  234 

Gives  lustration  to  all,  then  bids  farewell  to  the  tomb. 

1  One  of  Aeneas'  companions. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         231 

But  the  devout  Aeneas  a  vast  grave   builds  on  the 

shore, 
Places  upon  it  the  warrior's  arms,  his  trumpet  and 

oar, 
Close  to  the  sky-capped  hill  that  from  hence  Misenus l 

is  hight, 
Keeping  through  endless  ages  his  glorious  memory 

bright. 

Finished  the  task,  to  accomplish  the  Sibyl's  behest 
they  sped.  240 

There  was  a  cavern  deep,  —  with  a  yawning  throat 
and  a  dread,  — 

Shingly  and  rough,  by  a  sombre  lake  and  a  forest  of 
night 

Sheltered  from  all  approach.     No  bird  wings  safely 
her  flight 

Over  its  face,  —  from  the  gorges  exhales  such  poison- 
ous breath,  244 

Rising  aloft  to  the  skies  in  a  vapor  laden  with  death. 

Here  four  sable  oxen  the  priestess  ranges  in  line ; 

Empties   on  every  forehead  a  brimming   beaker  of 
wine ; 

Casts  on  the  altar-fire,  as  the  first-fruits  due  to  the 
dead, 

Hair  from  between  both  horns  of  the  victim,  plucked 
from  its  head  ; 

Loudly  on  Hecate  calls,  o'er  heaven  and  the  shadows 
supreme.  250 

Others  handle  the  knife,  and  receive,  as  it  trickles, 
the  stream 

Warm  from  the  throat  in  a  bowl.     Aeneas  with  fal- 
chion bright 
1  Properly  Misenum,  the  promontory  southeast  of  Comae. 


232  VIRGIL 

Slays  himself  one  lamb  of  a  sable  fleece  to  the  fell 
Mother  and  queen  of  the  Furies,  and  great  Earth, 

sister  of  Night, 
Killing  a  barren   heifer   to   thee,  thou  mistress   of 

Hell.  255 

Next  for  the  Stygian  monarch  a  twilight  altar   he 

lays; 
Flings  on  the  flames  whole  bodies  of  bulls  unquartered 

to  blaze, 
Pours  rich  oil  from  above  upon  entrails  burning  and 

bright. 
When,  at  the  earliest  beam  of  the  sun,  and  the  dawn 

of  the  light, 
Under  his  feet  earth  mutters,  the  mountain  forests 

around  260 

Seem  to  be  trembling,  and  hell  dogs  bay  from  the 

shadow  profound, 

Night's  dark  goddess  approaching.     "  Avaunt,  ye  un- 
hallowed, avaunt ! " 
Thunders  the  priestess.     "  Away  from  a  grove  that 

is  Hecate's  haunt. 
Make  for  the  pathway,  thou,  and  unsheathe  thy  sword  ; 

thou  hast  need,  264 

Now,  Aeneas,  of  all  thy  spirit  and  valor  indeed  ! " 
When  she  had  spoken,  she  plunged  in  her  madness 

into  the  cave ; 
Not  less  swiftly  he  follows,  with  feet  unswerving  and 

brave. 

Gods !  whose  realm  is  the  spirit-world,  mute  shadows 

of  might, 
Chaos,   and   Phlegethon 1  thou,  broad   kingdoms   of 

silence  and  night, 

1  A  river  of  Hades. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         233 

Leave  vouchsafe  me  to  tell  the  tradition,  grace  to 
exhume  270 

Things  in  the  deep  earth  hidden  and  drowned  in  the 
hollows  of  gloom. 

So  unseen  through  darkness,  amid  lone  night,  they 

strode 
Down  the  unpeopled  realm  of  Death,  and  his  ghostly 

abode, 
As  men  journey  in  woods  when  a  doubtful  moon  has 

bestowed 
Little  of  light,  when  Jove  has  concealed  in  shadow 

the  heaven,  275 

When  from  the  world  by  sombre  Night  Day's  colors 

are  driven. 

Facing  the  porch  itself,  in  the  jaws  of  the  gate  of  the 

dead, 
Grief,  and   Remorse  the  Avenger,  have  built  their 

terrible  bed. 
There  dwells  pale-cheeked   Sickness,  and   Old  Age 

sorrowful-eyed, 
Fear,  and  the  temptress  Famine,  and  hideous  Want 

at  her  side,  230 

Grim  and  tremendous   shapes.      There   Death  with 

Labor  is  joined, 
Sleep,  half-brother  of  Death,  and  the  Joys  unclean  of 

the  mind. 

Murderous  Battle  is  camped  on  the  threshold.   Front- 
ing the  door 
The  Iron  cells  of   the  Furies,  and  frenzied  Strife, 

evermore 
Wreathing  her  serpent  tresses  with  garlands  dabbled 

in  gore.  235 


234  VIRGIL 

Thick  with  gloom,  an  enormous  elm  in  the  midst  of 

the  way 
Spreads  its   time-worn    branches   and  limbs:    false 

Dreams,  we  are  told, 
Make  their  abode  thereunder,  and   nestle  to   every 

spray. 
Many  and  various  monsters,  withal,  wild  things  to 

behold, 
Lie  in  the  gateway  stabled  —  the  awful  Centaurs J  of 

old;  290 

Scyllas 2  with  forms  half -human ;  and  there  with  his 

hundred  hands 
Dwells   Briareus ; 3    and   the    shapeless   Hydra 4   of 

Lerna's  lands, 

Horribly  yelling  ;  in  flaming  mail  the  Chimaera  6  ar- 
rayed ; 
Gorgons6  and   Harpies,7  and  one   three-bodied  and 

terrible  Shade.8 

Clasping  his  sword,  Aeneas  in  sudden  panic  of  fear  295 
Points  its  blade  at  the  legion  ;  and  had  not  the  Hea- 
ven-taught seer 

Warned    him   the    phantoms   are   thin   apparitions, 
clothed  in  a  vain 

1  Fabled  to  have  been  half  man,  half  horse. 

2  The   monster  Scylla  is   usually  said  to  have  dwelt  in  the  cave 
of  a  rock  between  Italy  and  Sicily.     Virgil  here  speaks  as  if  there 
were  several  of  them,  and  places  them  in  the  lower  world. 

8  A  monstrous  giant,  one  of  the  sons  of  Uranus  and  Gaea. 
4  The  huge  water  serpent  that  lived  in  the  marsh  of  Lerna  near 
Argos. 

6  A  fabulous  composite  of  dragon,  lion,  and  goat. 

6  Three  daughters  of  Phorcys,  whose  hair  was  of  snakes  and  whose 
looks  turned  all  beholders  to  stone. 

7  Mythical  monsters,  half  bird  and  half  woman. 

8  The  giant  Geryon. 


AENEAS1  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         235 

Semblance  of  form,  but  in  substance  a  fluttering  bodi- 
less train, 

Idly  his  weapon  had  slashed  the  advancing  shadows 
in  twain.  299 

Here  is  the  path  to  the  river  of  Acheron,  ever  by  mud 
Clouded,  for  ever  seething  with  wild,  insatiate  flood 
Downward,  and  into  Cocytus  disgorging  its  endless 

sands. 

Sentinel  over  its  waters  an  awful  ferryman  stands, 
Charon,  grisly  and  rugged;   a  growth  of   centuries 

lies 
Hoary  and  rough  on  his  chin ;  as  a  flaming  furnace 

his  eyes.  305 

Hung  in  a  loop  from  his  shoulders  a  foul  scarf  round 

him  he  ties ; 
Now  with  his  pole  impelling  the  boat,  now  trimming 

the  sail, 
Urging  his  steel-gray  bark  with  its  burden  of  corpses 

pale, 
Aged  in  years,  but  a  god's  old  age  is  unwithered  and 

hale. 

Down  to  the  bank  of  the  river  the  streaming  shadows 
repair,  310 

Mothers,  and  men,  and  the  lifeless  bodies  of  those 
who  were 

Generous  heroes,  boys  that  are  beardless,  maids  un- 
wed, 

Sons  borne  forth  in  the  sight  of  their  sires  to  the  pile 
of  the  dead, 

Many  as  forest  leaves  that  in  autumn's  earliest  frost 

Flutter  and  fall,  or  as  birds  that  in  bevies  flock  to 
the  coast  sis 


236  VIRGIL 

Over  the  sea's  deep  hollows,  when  winter,  chilly  and 
frore, 

Drives  them  across  far  waters  to  land  on  a  sunnier 
shore. 

Yonder  they  stood,  each  praying  for  earliest  passage, 
and  each 

Eagerly  straining  his  hands  in  desire  of  the  opposite 
beach. 

Such  as  he  lists  to  the  vessel  the  boatman  gloomy  re- 
ceives, 320 

Far  from  the  sands  of  the  river  the  rest  he  chases  and 
leaves. 

Moved  at  the  wild  uproar,  Aeneas,  with  riveted  eyes  : 

"  Why  thus  crowd  to  the  water  the  shadows,  priest- 
ess ?"  he  cries ; 

"  What  do  the  spirits  desire  ?  And  why  go  some 
from  the  shore 

Sadly  away,  while  others  are  ferried  the  dark  stream 
o'er?"  »s 

Briefly  the  aged  priestess  again   made   answer  and 

spake : 
"  Son  of  Anchises,  sprung  most   surely  from   gods 

upon  high, 

Yon  is  the  deep  Cocytus  marsh,  and  the  Stygian  lake. 
Even  the  Immortals  fear  to  attest  its  presence  and 

lie! 
These  are  a  multitude  helpless,  of  spirits  lacking  a 

grave ;  330 

Charon  the  ferryman  ;  yonder  the  buried,  crossing  the 

wave. 
Over  the  awful  banks  and  the  hoarse-voiced  torrents 

of  doom 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         237 

None  may  be  taken  before  their  bones  find  rest  in  a 

tomb. 
Hundreds  of  years  they  wander,  and  flit  round  river 

and  shore, 
Then  to  the  lake  they  long  for  are  free  to  return  once 

more."  335 

Silent  the   hero  gazed  and  his  footstep  halted,  his 

mind 
Filled  with  his  own  sad  thoughts  and  compassion  of 

doom  unkind. 
Yonder  he  notes,  in  affliction,  deprived  of  the  dues  of 

the  dead, 

Near  Leucaspis,1  Orontes *  who  Lycia's  vessels  had  led. 
Over  the  wind-tossed  waters  from  Troy  as  together 

they  drave,  MO 

One  wild  storm  overtook  them,  engulfing  vessels  and 

brave. 

Yonder,  behold,  Palinurus  the  pilot  gloomily  went, 
Who,  while   standing   from   Libya's  shores,   on  the 

planets  intent, 
Fell  but  of  late  from  the  stern,  and  was  lost  in  a 

watery  waste. 
Hardly  he  knows  him  at  first,  as  in  shadow  sadly  he 

paced ;  345 

Then  at  the  last  breaks  silence  and  cries  :  "  What 

God  can  it  be 
Robbed  us  of  thee,  Palinurus,  and  drowned  thee  deep 

in  the  sea? 
Answer  me  thou  !     For  Apollo  I  ne'er  found  false  till 

to-day ; 
Only  in   this   one  thing  hath   his  prophecy  led  us 

astray. 

1  Former  companions  of  Aeneas. 


238  VIRGIL 

Safe  with  life  from  the  deep  to  Italian  shores,  we 
were  told,  350 

Thou  should'st  come  at  the  last !  Is  it  thus  that  his 
promises  hold  ?  " 

"  Son  of  Anchises,"  he  answers,  "  Apollo's  tripod  and 

shrine 
Have  not  lied ;  no  god  overwhelmed  me  thus  in  the 

brine. 
True  to  my  trust  I  was  holding  the  helm,  stood  ruling 

the  course, 
When  by  sad  misadventure  I  wrenched  it  loose,  and 

perforce  355 

Trailed  it  behind  in  my  fall.     By  the  cruel  waters  I 

swear 
Fear  of  mine  own  life  truly  I  knew  not,  felt  but  a 

care 

Lest  thy  bark,  of  her  rudder  bereft,  and  her  helms- 
man lost, 
Might  be  unequal  to  combat  the  wild  seas  round  her 

that  tossed. 
Three  long  nights  of  the  winter,  across  great  waters 

and  wide,  3eo 

Violent  south  winds  swept  me  ;  at  fourth  day's  dawn 

I  descried 
Italy's  coast,  as  I  rose  on  the  crest  of  a  wave  of  the 

sea. 
Stroke   by  stroke  I  was  swimming   ashore,  seemed 

nearly  to  be 
Safe  from   the   billows  ;    and  weighted  by  dripping 

garments  I  clave, 
Clutching  my  hands,  to  the  face  of  a  cliff  that  towered 

on  the  wave,  sw 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         239 

When  wild  people  assailed  me,  a  treasure-trove  to 

their  mind. 
Now  are  the  waves  my  masters ;  I  toss  on  the  beach 

in  the  wind. 
O !  by  the  pleasant  sun,  by  the  joyous  light  of  the 

skies, 

By  thy  sire,  and  lulus,1  the  rising  hope  of  thine  eyes, 
Save  me  from  these  great  sorrows,  my  hero !     Over 

me  pour  370 

Earth,  as  in   truth  thou  canst,  and   return   to   the 

Velian  2  shore. 
Else,  if  a  heavenly  mother  hath  shown  thee  yonder  a 

way,— 
Since  some  god's  own  presence,  methinks,  doth  guide 

thee,  who  here 
Seekest   to   cross  these   streams    and    the    Stygian 

marshes  drear,  — 
Give  thy  hand  to  thy  servant,  and  take  him  with  thee 

to-day,  375 

So  that  in   quiet  places  his  wearied  head  he  may 

lay  !  " 
Thus,  sad  phantom,  he  cried ;  thus  answered  the  seer 

of  the  shrine : 
"Whence,  Palinurus,  comes  this  ill-omened  longing 

of  thine  ? 
Thou  cast   eyes,  unburied,   on   Stygian   waves,   the 

severe 
Stream  of  the  Furies,  approach  unbidden  the  banks 

of  the  mere !  aao 

Cease  thy  dream  that  the  Fates  by  prayer  may  be 

ever  appeased, 
Yet  keep  this  in  remembrance,  that  so  thy  lot  may  be 

eased : — 

1  Aeneas'  sou.  -  Volia  was  a  town  on  the  Lucanian  coast. 


240  VIRGIL 

Many  a  neighboring  people  from  cities  far  and  un- 
known, 
Taught  by  prodigies  dire  of  the  skies,  thy  bones  shall 

atone, 
Building  thy  tomb,  and  remitting  their  gifts  each  year 

to  thy  ghost ;  sss 

So  Palinurus'1  name  shall  for   ever   cleave  to  the 

coast." 
Thus  his  affliction  she  soothes.     For  a  little  season 

his  sad 
Spirit  has  comfort ;  he  thinks  on  his  namesake  land 

and  is  glad. 
Thence  they  advance  on  the  journey  and  now  draw 

near  to  the  flood. 
Soon  as  the  boatman  saw  them,  from  where  on  the 

water  he  stood,  390 

Move  through  the  silent  forest  and  bend  their  steps 

to  the  beach, 

Ere  they  arrive  he  accosts  them,  and  first  breaks  si- 
lence in  speech. 
"  Stranger,  approaching  in  arms  our  river,  whoever 

thou  art, 
Speak  on  the  spot  thine  errand,  and  hold  thee  further 

apart. 
This  is  the   kingdom  of  shadows,  of  sleep   and  the 

slumberous  dark ;  395 

Bodies  of  living  men  are  forbidden  the  Stygian  bark. 
Not  of  mine  own  good  will  was  Alcides  over  the  wave 
Yonder,  or  Theseus  taken,  nor  yet  Pirithous  brave, 
Though  from   gods  they  descended,  and   matchless 

warriors  were  ; 
One  2  from  the  monarch's  presence  to  chains  sought 

boldly  to  bear  400 

1  There  was  a  promontory  so  called.  a  Hercules. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES          241 

Hell's  unslumbering  warder,1  and  trailed  him  trem- 
bling away. 

Two2  from  her  bridal  chamber  conspired  Death's 
queen  to  convey." 

Briefly  again  makes  answer  the   great  Atnphrysian 

seer : 8 
"  Here  no  cunning  awaits  thee  as  theirs  was,  far  be 

the  fear. 
Violence  none  our  weapons  prepare ;  Hell's  warder 

may  still  m 

Bay  in  his  cavern  for  ever,  affrighting  the  phantoms 

chill ; 
Hell's  chaste  mistress  keep  to  her  kinsman's  halls  if 

she  will. 

Troy's  Aeneas,  a  son  most  loving,  a  warrior  brave, 
Goes  in  the  quest  of  his  sire  to  the  deepest  gloom  of 

the  grave. 
If  thou   art  all  unmoved  at  the  sight  of  a  love  so 

true  "  —  410 

Here   she  displays   him  the  bough  in  her  garment 

hidden  from  view  — 
"  Know  this  branch."     In  his  bosom  the  tempest  of 

anger  abates. 
Further  he  saith  not.     Feasting  his  eyes  on  the  wand 

of  the  Fates, 

Mighty  oblation,  unseen  for  unnumbered  summers  be- 
fore, 
Charon  advances  his  dark-blue  bows,  and  approaches 

the  shore ;  us 

1  Cerberus. 

2  Theseus  and  Pirithons. 

8  The  Sibyl.  The  epithet  "  Amphrysian  "  is  applied  to  her  as  the 
priestess  of  Apollo,  who,  according  to  the  story,  fed  the  flocks  of 
Admetus  near  the  river  Amphrysus  in  Thessaly. 


242  VIRGIL 

Summons  the  rest  of  the  spirits  in  row  on  the  benches 

who  sate 
Place  to  resign  for  the  comers,  his  gangway  clears, 

and  on  board 
Takes  Aeneas.     The  cobbled  boat  groans  under  his 

weight. 
Water  in  streams  from  the  marshes  through  every 

fissure  is  poured. 
Priestess   and  hero   safely  across  Death's  river  are 

passed,  420 

Land  upon  mud  unsightly,  and  pale  marsh-sedges,  at 

last. 

Here  huge  Cerberus  bays  with  his  triple  jaws  through 

the  land, 
Crouched  at  enormous  length  in  his  cavern  facing  the 

strand. 
Soon  as  the  Sibyl  noted  his  hair  now  bristling  with 

snakes, 
Morsels  she  flings  him  of  meal,  and  of  honeyed  opiate 

cakes.  425 

Maddened  with  fury  of  famine  his  three  great  throats 

unclose ; 
Fiercely  he  snatches  the  viand,  his  monstrous  limbs 

in  repose 
Loosens,  and,  prostrate  laid,  sprawls  measureless  over 

his  den. 

While  the  custodian  sleeps,  Aeneas  the  entrance  takes, 
Speeds  from  the  bank  of  a  stream  no  traveller  crosses 

again.  430 

Voices  they  heard,  and  an  infinite  wailing,  as  onward 

they  bore, 
Spirits  of  infants  sobbing  at  Death's  immediate  door, 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES          243 

Whom,  at  a  mother's  bosom,  and  strangers  to  life's 
sweet  breath, 

Fate's  dark  day  took  from  us,  and  drowned  in  un- 
timeliest  death. 

Near  them  are  those  who,  falsely  accused,  died  guilt- 
less, although  435 

Not  without  trial,  or  verdict  given,  do  they  enter  be- 
low; 

Here,  with  his  urn,  sits  Minos1  the  judge,  convenes 
from  within 

Silent  ghosts  to  the  council,  and  learns  each  life  and 
its  sin. 

Near  them  inhabit  the  sorrowing  souls,  whose  innocent 
hands 

Wrought  on  themselves  their  ruin,  and  strewed  their 
lives  on  the  sands,  440 

Hating  the  glorious  sunlight.  Alas !  how  willingly 
they 

Now  would  endure  keen  want,  hard  toil,  in  the  re- 
gions of  day ! 

Fate  forbids  it ;  the  loveless  lake  with  its  waters  of 
woe 

Holds  them,  and  nine  times  round  them  entwined, 
Styx  bars  them  below. 

Further  faring,  they  see  that  beyond  and  about  them 
are  spread  445 

Fields  of  the  Mourners,  for  so  they  are  called  in 
worlds  of  the  dead. 

Here  dwell  those  whom  Love,  with  his  cruel  sickness, 
hath  slain. 

Lost  in  secluded  walks,  amid  myrtle  groves  overhead, 

1  Minos,  king  of  Crete,  became  after  his  death  one  of  the  judges 
in  Hades. 


244  VIRGIL 

Hiding  they  go,  nor  in  death  itself  are  they  eased  of 
the  pain. 

Phaedra,1  and  Procris,2  here,  Eriphyle  3  here  they  be- 
hold, 450 

Sadly  displaying  the  wounds  that  her  wild  son 
wrought  her  of  old. 

Yonder  Pasiphae  *  stood  and  Evadne  ; 5  close  to  them 

clung 

Laodamia,6  and  Caenis,7  a  man  once,  woman  at  last, 
Now  by  the  wheel  of  the  Fates  in  her  former  figure 

recast. 
Fresh  from   her  death-wound  still,  here  Dido,8    the 

others  among,  455 

Roamed  in  a  spacious  wood.      Through  shadow  the 

chieftain  soon 
Dimly  discerned  her  face,  as  a  man,  when  the  month 

is  but  young, 
Sees,  or  believes  he  has  seen,  amid  cloudlets  shining, 

the  moon. 
Tears  in  his  eyes,  he  addressed  her  with  tender  love 

as  of  old : 

1  Wife  of  Theseus,  who  killed  herself  when  her  stepson  Hippoly- 
t  us  rejected  her  love. 

2  Wife  of  Cephalns,  who,  moved  by  jealousy  to  spy  upon  her  hus- 
band, was  accidentally  killed  by  him. 

8  Killed  by  her  son  Alcmaeon,  because,  bribed  with  a  necklace, 
she  had  induced  her  husband  to  join  the  expedition  of  the  Seven 
against  Thebes,  in  which  he  was  slain. 

«  Wife  of  Minos. 

6  Wife  of  Capaneus,  who  threw  herself  on  her  husband's  funeral 
pyre  and  perished. 

8  Wife  of  Protesilaus,  the  first  Greek  who  fell  at  Troy. 

7  A  girl  whom  her  lover  Neptune  transformed  into  a  man,  but  who, 
on  being  slain  by  the  Centaurs,  was  retransformed. 

8  She  had  committed  suicide  after  Aeneas'  departure  from  Car- 
thage. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         245 
"  True,  then,  sorrowful  Dido,  the  messenger  fires  that 

told  460 

Thy  sad  death,  and  the  doom  thou  soughtest  of  choice 

by  thy  hand ! 
Was  it,  alas !  to  a  grave  that  I  did  thee  ?     Now  by 

the  bright 
Stars,  by  the   Gods,  and   the  faith   that  abides  in 

realms  of  the  Night, 
'T  was  unwillingly,   lady,   I    bade   farewell  to   thy 

land. 
Yet,  the  behest  of  Immortals,  —  the  same  which  bids 

me  to  go  465 

Through  these  shadows,  the  wilderness  mire  and  the 

darkness  below,  — 
Drove  me  imperious  thence,  nor  possessed  I  power  to 

believe 
I  at  departing  had  left  thee  in  grief  thus  bitter  to 

grieve. 
Tarry,  and  turn  not  away  from  a  face  that  on  thine 

would  dwell ; 

'T  is  thy  lover  thou  fliest,  and  this  is  our  last  fare- 
well ! "  470 

So,  with  a  burning  heart  and  with  glowering  eyes  as 
she  went, 

Melting  vainly  in  tears,  he  essayed  her  wrath  to  re- 
lent ; 

She  with  averted  gaze  upon  earth  her  countenance 
cast, 

Nothing  touched  in  her  look  by  her  lover's  words  to 
the  last,  474 

Set  as  a  marble  rock  of  Marpessus,1  cold  as  a  stone. 

After  a  little  she  fled,  in  the  forest  hurried  to  hide, 

1  A  mountain  in  the  island  of  Paros  in  the  Aegaean  Sea. 


246  VIRGIL 

Ever  his  foe ;  Sychaeus1,  her  first  lord,  there  at  her 

side, 
Answers  sorrow  with  sorrow,  and  love  not  less  than 

her  own. 

Thence  on  the  path  appointed  they  go,  and  the  utter- 
most plain 

Ixeach  ere  long,  where  rest  in  seclusion  the  glorious 
slain.  480 

Tydeus  2  here  he  discerns,  here  Parthenopaeus  2  of  old 

Famous  in  arms,  and  the  ghost  of  Adrastus,2  pallid 
and  cold. 

Wailed  in  the  world  of  the  sunlight  long,  laid  low  in 
the  fray, 

Here  dwell  Ilion's  chiefs.  As  his  eyes  on  the  gallant 
array 

Lighted,  he  groaned.  Three  sons  of  Antenor  yonder 
they  see,  435 

Glaucus  8  and  Medon  and  young  Thersilochus,  breth- 
ren three ; 

Here  Polyphaetes,  servant  of  Heaven  from  his  earliest 
breath ; 

There  Idaeus,  the  shield  and  the  reins  still  holding  in 
death. 

Thickly  about  him  gather  the  spectral  children  of 
Troy: 

'T  is  not  enough  to  have  seen  him,  to  linger  round 
him  is  joy,  490 

Pace  at  his  side,  and  inquire  why  thus  he  descends  to 
the  dead. 

1  Her  husband,  after  whose  mnrder  by  her  brother  Pygmalion  she 
had  come  from  Tyre  to  Africa,  and  founded  Carthage. 

a  One  of  the  Seven  against  Thebes. 

8  In  this  and  in  the  next  two  lines  we  have  the  names  of  distin- 
guished Trojans  who  had  been  killed  in  the  war. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         247 

But  the  Achaean  l  chiefs,  Agamemnon's  2  legions  ar- 
rayed, 

When  on  the  hero  they  looked,  and  his  armor  gleam- 
ing in  shade, 

Shook  with  an  infinite  terror,  and  some  turned  from 
him  and  fled, 

As  to  the  Danaan 1  vessels  in  days  gone  by  they  had 
sped.  495 

Some  on  the  air  raise  thinnest  of  voices  ;  the  shout  of 
the  fray 

Seems,  upon  lips  wide-parted,  begun,  then  passing 
away. 

Noble  Dei'phobus  here  he  beholds,  all  mangled  and 
marred, 

Son  of  the  royal  Priam  ;  —  his  visage  cruelly  scarred, 

Visage  and  hands  ;  from  his  ravaged  temples  bloodily 
shorn  soo 

Each  of  his  ears,  and  his  nostrils  with  wounds  in- 
glorious torn. 

Hardly  he  knew  him  in  sooth,  for  he  trembled,  seek- 
ing to  hide 

These  great  wrongs  ;  but  at  last  in  a  voice  most  lov- 
ing he  cried : 

"  Gallant  Dei'phobus,  born  of  the  Teucrian  lineage 
bright, 

Who  had  the  heart  to  revenge  him  in  this  dire  fashion 
and  dread  ?  sos 

Who  dared  thus  to  abuse  thee?  On  Troy's  last 
funeral  night, 

Weary  of  endless  slaughter  and  Danaan  blood,  it  was 
said 

1  Greek.  2  The  leader  of  the  Greeks. 


248  VIRGIL 

Thou  hadst  laid  thee  to  die  on  a  heap  of  the  nameless 

dead. 
Yea !  and   a  vacant  mound  upon  far  Rhoetaeum's  1 

coast 
I  there  built  thee,  and  thrice  bade  loud  farewell  to 

thy  ghost.  sic 

Hallowed  the  spot  by  thine  armor  and  name.     Ere 

crossing  the  wave 
Never,  friend,  could  I  find  thee,  nor  give  thee  an 

Ilian  grave." 

"  Nothing  was  left  undone,  O  friend !  "  he  replies  ; 

"  thou  hast  paid 
All  that  Dei'phobus  claims,  all  debt  that  was  due  to 

his  shade. 
'T  was  my  destiny  sad,  and  the  crime  accursed  of  the 

Greek  sis 

Woman,2  in  woe  that  plunged  me,  and  wrote  this  tale 

on  my  cheek. 

Well  thou  knowest  —  for  ah  !  too  long  will  the  mem- 
ory last  — 
How  Troy's  funeral  night  amid  treacherous  pleasures 

we  passed ; 
When  Fate's  terrible  steed  8  overcame  our  walls  at  a 

leap, 
Carrying   mailclad   men   in   its  womb  towards   Per- 

gama's  steep ;  520 

How,  a  procession  feigning,  the  Phrygian 4  mothers 

she  led 

Round  our  city  in  orgy,  with  lighted  torch  at  their  head, 
Waving  herself  the  Achaeans  to  Ilion's  citadel  keep. 

1  A  promontory  north  of  Troy. 

*  Helen,  who  after  Paris'  death  had  been  given  to  Deiphobus. 

*  The  wooden  horse.  *  Trojan. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         249 

I,  that  night,  overburdened  with  troubles,  buried  in 
sleep,  s24 

Lay  in  the  fatal  chamber,  delicious  slumber  and  deep 

Folding  mine  eyelids,  like  the  unbroken  rest  of  the 
slain. 

She,  meanwhile,  my  glorious  spouse,  from  the  palace 
has  ta'en 

Every  weapon,  and  drawn  from  the  pillow  the  fal- 
chion I  bore, 

Then  Menelaus l  summons,  and  straightway  loosens 
the  door, 

Hoping  in  sooth  that  her  lover  with  this  great  boon 
might  be  won,  530 

Deeming  the  fame  of  her  guilt  in  the  past  might  so 
be  undone. 

Why  on  the  memory  linger  ?  The  foe  streamed  in 
at  the  gate 

Led  by  Ulysses,  the  plotter.  May  judgment,  Immor- 
tals, wait 

Yet  on  the  Greeks,  if  of  vengeance  a  reverent  heart 
may  be  fain ! 

Tell  me  in  turn  what  sorrow  has  brought  thee  alive 
and  unslain  sss 

Hither  ? "  he  cries ;  "  art  come  as  a  mariner  lost  on 
the  main, 

Or  by  the  counsel  of  Heaven  ?  What  fortune  drives 
thee  in  quest, 

Hither,  of  sunless  places  and  sad,  the  abodes  of  un- 
rest ?" 

Morn  already  with  roseate  steeds,  while  talk  they 
exchange, 

Now  in  her  journey  has  traversed  the  half  of  the 
heavenly  range,  MO 

1  Brother  of  Agamemnon  and  husband  of  Helen. 


250  VIRGIL 

And  perad  venture  thus  the  allotted  time  had  been 
passed, 

Had  not  the  faithful  Sibyl  rebuked  him  briefly  at  last. 

"  Night  draws  nigh,  Aeneas.  In  tears  we  are  spend- 
ing the  hours. 

Here  is  the  place  where  the  path  is  divided.  This  to 
the  right, 

Under  the  walls  of  the  terrible  Dis  *  —  to  Elysium  2  — 
ours.  545 

Yonder,  the  left,  brings  doom  to  the  guilty,  and 
drives  them  in  flight 

Down  to  the  sinful  region  where  awful  Tartarus 
lowers." 

"  Terrible  priestess,  frown  not,"  Dei'phobus  cries ;  "  I 

depart, 
Join   our   shadowy   legion,   restore   me  to  darkness 

anon. 
Go,  thou  joy  of  the  race  ;  may  the  Fates  vouchsafe 

thee  a  part  sso 

Brighter  than  mine !  "     And  behold,  as   he  uttered 

the  word,  he  was  gone. 

Turning  his  eyes,  Aeneas  sees  broad  battlements 
placed 

Under  the  cliffs  on  his  left,  by  a  triple  rampart  en- 
cased ; 

Hound  them  in  torrents  of  ambient  fire  runs  Phlege- 
thon  swift, 

River  of  Hell,  and  the  thundering  rocks  sends  ever 
adrift.  555 

1  The  ruler  of  the  world  below,  corresponding  to  the  Greek  Pluto. 

2  The  abode  of  the  blessed,  as  Tartarus  was  the  place  of  punish- 
ment for  the  wicked. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES          251 

One  huge  portal  in  front  upon  pillars  of   adamant 

stands  ; 
Neither  can   mortal   might,   nor   the   heavens'   own 

warrior  bands, 

Rend  it  asunder.     An  iron  tower  rears  over  the  door, 
Where  Tisiphone l  seated  in  garments  dripping  with 

gore 
Watches  the  porch,  unsleeping,  by  day  and  by  night 

evermore.  seo 

Hence  come  groans  on  the  breezes,  the  sound  of  a 

pitiless  flail, 
Rattle  of  iron  bands,  and  the  clanking  of  fetters  that 

trail. 

Silent  the  hero  stands,  and  in  terror  rivets  his  eyes. 
"  What  dire  shapes  of  impiety  these  ?     Speak,  priest- 
ess !  "  he  cries. 
"  What  dread  torment  racks  them,  and  what  shrieks 

yonder  arise  ?  "  sw 

She  in  return :  "  Great  chief  of  the  Teucrian  hosts, 

as  is  meet 
Over  the  threshold  of  sinners  may  pass  no  innocent 

feet. 

Hecate's  self,  who  set  me  to  rule  the  Avernian  glade, 
Taught  me  of  Heaven's  great  torments,  and  all  their 

terrors  displayed. 
Here  reigns  dread  Rhadamanthus,2  a  king  no  mercy 

that  knows,  570 

Chastens  and  judges  the  guilty,  compels  each  soul  to 

disclose 
Crimes  of  the  upper  air  that  he  kept  concealed  from 

the  eye, 

1  One  of  the  Furies. 

2  He  acted,  together  with  Aeacus  and  Minos,  as  judge  of  the  dead. 


252  VIRGIL 

Proud  of  his  idle  cunning,  till  Death  brought  punish- 
ment nigh. 

Straightway  then  the  Avenger  Tisiphone  over  them 
stands, 

Scourges  the  trembling  sinners,  her  fierce  lash  arming 
her  hands ;  575 

Holds  in  her  left  uplifted  her  serpents  grim,  and  from 
far 

Summons  the  awful  troop  of  her  sisters  gathered  for 
war! 

Then  at  the  last  with  a  grating  of  hideous  hinges  un- 
close 

Hell's  infernal  doors.   Dost  see  what  warders  are  those 

Crouched  in  the  porch  ?  What  presence  is  yonder 
keeping  the  gate  ?  MO 

Know  that  a  Hydra l  beyond  it,  a  foe  still  fiercer  in 
hate, 

Lurks  with  a  thousand  ravening  throats.  See !  Tar- 
tarus great 

Yawning  to  utter  abysses,  and  deepening  into  the 
night, 

Twice  as  profound  as  the  space  of  the  starry  Olym- 
pian height. 

"Here  the  enormous  Titans,2  the  Earth's  old  progeny, 
hurled  535 

Low  by  the  lightning,  are  under  the  bottomless  waters 
whirled. 

Here  I  beheld  thy  children,  Aloeus,  giants  3  of  might, 

Brethren  bold  who  endeavored  to  pluck  down  heaven 
from  its  height, 

1  A  water-snake. 

2  Sons  of  Uranus  and  Gaea,  who  were  conquered  by  Zens  and  cast 
into  Tartarus.  •  Otus  and  Ephialtes. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         253 

Fain  to  displace  great  Jove  from  his  throne  in  the 

kingdom  of  light. 

Saw  Salmoneus l  too,  overtaken  with  agony  dire       m 
While  the  Olympian  thunder  he  mimicked  and  Jove's 

own  fire. 
Borne  on  his  four-horsed  chariot,  and  waving  torches 

that  glowed, 
Over  the  Danaan  land,  through  the  city  of  Elis,  he 

rode, 
Marching  in  triumph,  and  claiming  the  honors  due 

to  a  god. 
Madman,  thinking  with  trumpets  and  tramp  of  the 

steeds  that  he  drove  595 

He  might  rival  the  storms,  and  the  matchless  thun- 
ders of  Jove ! 
But  the  omnipotent  Father  a  bolt  from   his  cloudy 

abyss 
Launched  —  no  brand  from  the  pine,  no  smoke  of  the 

torchlight  this  — 
And  with  an  awful  whirlwind  blast  hurled  Pride  to 

its  f  all. 
Tityos 2  also,  the  nursling  of  Earth,  great  mother  of 

all,  eoo 

Here  was  to  see,  whose  body  a  long  league  covers  of 

plain ; 
One  huge  vulture,  standing  with  hooked  beak  at  his 

side, 

Shears  his  liver  that  dies  not,  his  bowel  fruitful  of  pain, 
Searches  his  heart  for  a  banquet,  beneath  his  breast 

doth  abide, 
Grants  no  peace  to  the  vitals  that  ever  renew  them 

again.  eos 

1  Son  of  Aeolus,  who  usurped  the  name  and  sacrifices  of  Jupiter. 

2  Son  of  Gaea,  a  giant  of  Euboea,  who  was  punished  for  insulting 
Artemis. 


254  VIRGIL 

"  Why  of  Pirithous  tell,  and  Ixion,  Lapithae J  tall, 

O'er  whose  brows  is  suspended  a  dark  crag,  ready  to 
fall, 

Ever  in  act  to  descend  ?  Proud  couches  raised  upon 
bright 

Golden  feet  are  shining,  a  festal  table  in  sight 

Laden  with  royal  splendor.  The  Furies'  Queen 2  on 
her  throne  ao 

Sits  at  the  banquet  by  —  forbids  them  to  taste  it  — 
has  flown 

Now  to  prevent  them  with  torch  uplifted,  and  thun- 
dering tone. 

"  All  who  have  hated  a  brother  in  lifetime,  all  who 

have  laid 

Violent  hands  on  a  parent,  the  faith  of  a  client  be- 
trayed ; 
Those  who  finding  a  treasure  have  o'er  it  brooded 

alone,  eis 

Setting  aside  no  portion  for  kinsmen,  a  numerous 

band; 
Those  in  adultery  slain,  all  those  who  have  raised  in 

the  land 
Treason's  banner,  or  broken  their  oath  to  a  master's 

hand, 
Prisoned  within  are  awaiting  an  awful  doom  of  their 

own. 

"  Ask  me  not,  what  their  doom,  —  what  form  of  re- 
quital or  ill  620 

Whelms  them  below.  Some  roll  huge  stones  to  the 
crest  of  the  hill, 

1  A  mythical  people  of  Thessaly,  ruled  by  Pirithous,  son  of  Ixion. 
*  Either  Alecto  or  Megaera. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         255 

Some  on  the  spokes  of  a  whirling  wheel  hang  spread 
to  the  wind. 

Theseus  sits,  the  unblest,  and  will  ever  seated  re- 
main; 

Phlegyas 1  here  in  his  torments  a  warning  voice  to 
mankind 

Raises,  loudly  proclaiming  throughout  Hell's  gloomy 
abodes :  625 

'  Learn  hereby  to  be  just,  and  to  think  no  scorn  of 
the  Gods ! ' 

This  is  the  sinner  his  country  who  sold,  forged  tyr- 
anny's chain, 

Made  for  a  bribe  her  laws,  for  a  bribe  unmade  them 
again. 

Yon  wretch  dared  on  a  daughter  with  eyes  unholy  to 

look.  629 

All  some  infamy  ventured,  of  infamy's  gains  partook. 
Had  I  a  thousand  tongues,  and  a  thousand  lips,  and  a 

speech 
Fashioned  of  steel,  sin's  varying  types  I  hardly  could 

teach, 
Could  not  read  thee  the  roll  of  the  torments  suffered 

of  each!" 

Soon  as  the  aged  seer  of  Apollo  her  story  had  done, 

"  Forward,"  she  cries,  "  on  the  path,  and  complete 
thy  mission  begun.  ess 

Hasten  the  march !  I  behold  in  the  distance  battle- 
ments great, 

Built  by  the  Cyclops'  forge,  and  the  vaulted  dome  at 
the  gate 

1  King  of  the  Phlegyae  in  Boeotia,  who,  to  avenge  his  daughter, 
set  fire  to  the  temple  of  Apollo  at  Delphi,  and  was  killed  by  the 
arrows  of  the  god. 


256  VIRGIL 

Where  the  divine  revelation  ordains  our  gifts  to  be 

laid." 
Side  by  side  at  her  bidding  they  traverse  the  region 

of  shade, 
Over  the  distance  hasten,  and  now  draw  nigh  to  the 

doors.  640 

Fronting  the   gates  Aeneas   stands,  fresh  water  he 

pours 
Over  his  limbs,  and  the  branch  on  the  portal  hangs 

as  she  bade. 

After  the  rite  is  completed,  the  gift  to  the  goddess 

addressed, 
Now  at  the  last  they  come  to  the  realms  where  Joy 

has  her  throne ; 
Sweet  green  glades  in  the  Fortunate  Forests,  abodes 

of  the  blest,  645 

Fields   in  an  ampler  ether,  a  light  more    glorious 

dressed, 
Lit  evermore  with  their  own  bright  stars  and  a  sun 

of  their  own. 
Some  are  training  their  limbs  on  the  wrestling-green, 

and  compete 
Gaily  in  sport  on  the  yellow  arenas,  some  with  their 

feet 
Treading  their  choral  measures,  or  singing  the  hymns 

of  the  god  ;  eso 

While  their  Thracian  priest,1  in  a  sacred  robe  that 

trails, 
Chants  them  the  air  with  the  seven  sweet  notes  of  his 

musical  scales, 
Now  with  his  fingers  striking,  and  now  with  his  ivory 

rod. 

Orpheus. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         257 

Here  are  the  ancient  children  of  Teucer,1  fair  to  be- 
hold, 
Generous   heroes,  born   in  the  happier  summers  of 

Old, 655 

Ilus,  Assaracus  by  him,  and  Dardan,  founder  of  Troy. 
Far  in  the   distance   yonder  are  visible   armor  and 

car 
Unsubstantial,  in  earth  their  lances  are  planted,  and 

far 
Over  the  meadows  are  ranging  the  chargers  freed  from 

employ. 
All  the  delight  they  took  when  alive  in  the  chariot 

and  sword,  eeo 

All  of  the  loving  care  that  to  shining  coursers  was 

paid, 
Follows  them  now  that  in  quiet  below  Earth's  breast 

they  are  laid. 
Banqueting  here  he  beholds  them  to  right  and  to  left 

on  the  sward, 
Chanting  in  chorus  the  Paean,  beneath  sweet  forests 

of  bay, 
Whence,  amid  wild  wood  covers,  the  river  Eridanus, 

poured,  665 

Rolls  his  majestic  torrents  to  upper  earth  and  the 

day. 
Chiefs  for  the  land  of  their  sires  in  the  battle  wounded 

of  yore, 
Priests  whose  purity  lasted  until  sweet  life  was  no 

more, 
Faithful  prophets  who  spake  as  beseemed  their  god 

and  his  shrine,  669 

All  who  by  arts  invented  to  life  have  added  a  grace, 

1  Teucer,  Ilus,  Assaracus,  and  Dardan  all  belonged,  in  different 
generations,  to  the  royal  house  of  Troy. 


258  VIRGIL 

All  whose  services  earned  the  remembrance  deep  of 
the  race, 

Hound  their  shadowy  foreheads  the  snow-white  gar- 
land entwine. 

Then,  as  about  them  the  phantoms  stream,  breaks 

silence  the  seer, 
Turning  first   to   Musaeus,1  —  for    round    him    the 

shadows  appear 
Thickest  to  crowd,  as  he  towers  with  his  shoulders 

over  the  throng  —  675 

"  Tell  me,  ye  joyous  spirits,  and  thou,  bright  master 

of  song, 
Where  is  the  home  and  the  haunt  of  the  great  An- 

chises,  for  whom 
Hither  we  come,  and  have  traversed  the  awful  rivers 

of  gloom  ?  " 
Briefly  in  turn  makes  answer  the  hero :  "  None  has  a 

home 
In  fixed  haunts.     We  inhabit  the  dark  thick  glades, 

on  the  brink  eso 

Ever  of  moss-banked  rivers,  and  water  meadows  that 

drink 
Living  streams.     But  if  onward  your  heart  thus  wills 

ye  to  go, 
Climb  this  ridge.     I  will  set  ye  in  pathways  easy  to 

know." 
Forward   he   marches,   leading   the  way ;   from   the 

heights  at  the  end 
Shows  them  a  shining  plain,  and  the  mountain  slopes 

they  descend.  ew 

There  withdrawn  to  a  valley  of  green  in  a  fold  of  the 

plain 

1  A  mythical  poet  of  pre-Homeric  times. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         259 

Stood  Anchises  the  father,  his  eyes  intent  on  a  train  — 
Prisoned    spirits,    soon    to    ascend   to   the   sunlight 

again ;  — 
Numbering   over  his  children l  dear,  their  myriad 

bands, 
All  their  destinies  bright,  their  ways,  and  the  work 

of  their  hands.  m 

When  he  beheld  Aeneas  across  these  flowery  lands 
Moving  to  meet  him,  fondly  he  strained  both  arms  to 

his  boy, 
Tears  on   his   cheek   fell  fast,  and  his  voice  found 

slowly  employ. 

"  Here  thou  comest  at  last,  and  the  love  I  counted 

upon 
Over  the  rugged  path  has  prevailed.     Once  more,  O 

my  son,  695 

I  may  behold  thee,  and  answer  with  mine  thy  voice  as 

of  yore. 
Long  I  pondered  the  chances,  believed  this  day  was 

in  store, 
Reckoning  the  years  and  the  seasons.     Nor  was  my 

longing  belied. 

O'er  how  many  a  land,  past  what  far  waters  and  wide, 
Hast  thou  come  to  mine  arms  !     What  dangers  have 

tossed  thee,  my  child !  TOO 

Ah!   how  I  feared  lest  harm  should  await  thee  in 

Libya  wild !  " 

"  Thine  own  shade,  my  sire,  thine  own  disconsolate 

shade, 
Visiting  oft  my  chamber,  has  made  me  seek  thee,"  he 

said. 

1  The  Romans. 


260  VIRGIL 

"  Safe  upon  Tuscan  waters  the  fleet  lies.     Grant  me 

to  grasp 
Thy  right  hand,  sweet  father,  withdraw  thee  not  from 

its  clasp."  705 

So  he  replied ;  and  a  river  of  tears  flowed  over  his 

face. 
Thrice  with  his  arms  he  essayed  the  beloved  one's 

neck  to  embrace ; 
Thrice  clasped  vainly,  the  phantom  eluded  his  hands 

in  flight, 
Thin  as  the  idle  breezes,  and  like  some  dream  of  the 

night. 

There  Aeneas  beholds  in  a  valley  withdrawn  from  the 
rest  -no 

Far-off  glades,  and  a  forest  of  boughs  that  sing  in  the 
breeze ; 

Near  them  the  Lethe 1  river  that  glides  by  abodes  of 
the  blest. 

Bound  it  numberless  races  and  peoples  floating  he 
sees. 

So  on  the  flowery  meadows  in  calm,  clear  summer, 
the  bees 

Settle  on  bright-hued  blossoms,  or  stream  in  com- 
panies round  tu 

Fair  white  lilies,  till  every  plain  seems  ringing  with 
sound. 

Strange  to  the  scene  Aeneas,  with  terror  suddenly 

pale, 
Asks  of  its  meaning,  and  what  be  the  streams  in  the 

distant  vale, 

1  The  river  of  f orgetf ulnew. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         261 

Who  those  warrior  crowds  that  about  yon  river  await. 
Answer  returns  Anchises :  "  The  spirits  promised  by 

Fate  720 

Life  in  the  body  again.     Upon  Lethe's  watery  brink 
These  of  the  fountain  of  rest  and  of  long  oblivion 

drink. 
Ever  I  yearn  to  relate  thee  the  tale,  display  to  thine 

eyes, 
Count  thee  over  the  children  that  from  my  loins  shall 

arise, 
So  that  our  joy  may  be  deeper  on  finding  Italy's 

skies."  725 

"  O  my  father !  and  are  there,  and  must  we  believe 

it,"  he  said, 
"  Spirits  that  fly  once  more  to  the  sunlight  back  from 

the  dead  ? 
Souls  that  anew  to  the  body  return  and  the  fetters 

of  clay? 
Can  there  be  any  who  long  for  the  light  thus  blindly 

as  they  ?  " 

"  Listen,  and  I  will  resolve  thee  the  doubt,"  Anchises 
replies.  730 

Then  unfolds  him  in  order  the  tale  of  the  earth  and 
the  skies. 

"  In  the  beginning,  the  earth,  and  the  sky,  and  the 
spaces  of  night, 

Also  the  shining  moon,  and  the  sun  Titanic  and  bright 

Feed  on  an  inward  life,  and  with  all  things  mingled, 
a  mind 

Moves  universal  matter,  with  Nature's  frame  is  com- 
bined. 73S 


262  VIRGIL 

Thence  man's  race,  and  the  beast,  and  the  bird  that 
on  pinions  flies, 

All  wild  shapes  that  are  hidden  the  gleaming  waters 
beneath. 

Each  elemental  seed  has  a  fiery  force  from  the  skies, 

Each,  its  heavenly  being,  that  no  dull  clay  can  dis- 
guise, 

Bodies  of  earth  ne'er  deaden,  nor  limbs  long  destined 
to  death.  740 

Hence,  their  fears  and  desires;  their  sorrows  and 
joys  ;  for  their  sight, 

Blind  with  the  gloom  of  a  prison,  discerns  not  the 
heavenly  light. 

"  Nor  when  at  last  life  leaves  them,  do  all  sad  ills,  that 
belong 

Unto  the  sinful  body,  depart ;  still  many  survive 

Lingering  within  them,  alas!  for  it  needs  must  be 
that  the  long  745 

Growth  should  in  wondrous  fashion  at  full  completion 
arrive. 

So,  due  vengeance  racks  them,  for  deeds  of  an  earlier 
day 

Suffering  penance,  and  some  to  the  winds  hang  view- 
less and  thin 

Searched  by  the  breezes ;  from  others,  the  deep  in- 
fection of  sin 

Swirling  water  washes,  or  bright  fire  purges,  away.  750 

Each  in  his  own  sad  ghost  we  endure  ;  then  pass  to 
the  wide 

Realms  of  Elysium.  Few  in  the  fields  of  the  happy 
abide, 

Till  great  Time,  when  the  cycles  have  run  their 
courses  on  high, 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         263 

Takes  the  inbred  pollution,  and  leaves  to  us  only  the 

bright 
Sense  of  the  heaven's  own  ether,  and  fire  from  the 

springs  of  the  sky.  755 

When  for  a  thousand  years  they  have  rolled  their 

wheels  through  the  night, 

God  to  the  Lethe  river  recalls  this  myriad  train, 
That  with  remembrance  lost  once  more  they  may  visit 

the  light, 
And,  at  the  last,  have  desire  for  a  life  in  the  body 

again." 

When  he  had  ended,  his  son  and  the  Sibyl  maiden 

he  drew  veo 

Into  the  vast  assembly  —  the  crowd  with  its  endless 

hum ; 
There  on  a  hillock  plants  them,  that  hence  they  better 

may  view 
All  the  procession  advancing,  and  learn  their  looks  as 

they  come. 

"  What  bright  fame  hereafter  the  Trojan  line  shall 

adorn, 

What  far  children  be  theirs,  from  the  blood  of  Ital- 
ians born,  TBS 
Splendid  souls,  that  inherit  the  name  and  the  glory 

of  Troy, 
Now  will  I  tell  thee,  and  teach  thee  the  fates  thy  race 

shall  enjoy. 
Yon  fair  hero  who  leans  on  a  lance  unpointed  and 

bright, 
Granted  the  earliest  place  in  the  world  of  the  day  and 

the  light, 
Half  of  Italian   birth,  from  the  shadows  first  shall 

ascend,  770 


264  VIRGIL 

Silvius,1  Alban  of  name,  thy  child  though  born  at  the 
end, 

Son  of  thy  later  years  by  Laviiiia,  consort  of  thine, 

Reared  in  the  woods  as  a  monarch  and  sire  of  a  royal 
line. 

Next  to  him  Procas,  the  pride  of  the  race;  then 
Capys,  and  far 

Numitor;  after  him  one  who  again  thy  name  shall 
revive,  775 

Silvius,  hight  Aeneas,  in  pious  service  and  war 

Noble  alike,  if  to  Alba's  throne  he  shall  ever  arrive. 

Heroes  fair !  how  grandly,  behold !  their  manhood  is 
shown, 

While  their  brows  are  shaded  by  leaves  of  the  citizen- 
crown  ! 2 

These  on  the  mountain  ranges  shall  set  Nomentum 3 
the  steep,  7» 

Gabii's  towers,  Fidenae's  town,  Collatia's  keep  ; 

Here  plant  Inuus'  camp,  there  Cora  and  Bola  en- 
throne, 

Glorious  names  ere  long,  now  a  nameless  land  and 
unknown. 

Romulus,  scion  of  Mars,  at  the  side  of  his  grandsire  4 
see  — 

Ilia  fair  his  mother,  the  blood  of  Assaracus  he  !        ns 

See  on  his  helmet  the  doubled  crest,  how  his  sire  has 
begun 

Marking  the  boy  with  his  own  bright  plumes  for  the 
world  of  the  sun. 

1  In  this  and  the  following  lines  we  have  the  names  of  princes  of 
Alba. 

2  A  crown  of  oak  leaves  was  awarded  for  saving  a  citizen's  life  in 
battle. 

*  A  town  in  Old  Latium.    So,  too,  the  other  places  mentioned. 

*  Numitor,  the  father  of  Rhea  Silvia,  or  Ilia. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         265 

Under  his  auspices  Rome,  our  glorious  Rome,  shall 

arise, 
Earth  with  her  empire  ruling,  her  great  soul  touching 

the  skies. 
Lo !    seven  mountains  enwalling,  a  single  city,  she 

lies,  790 

Blest  in  her  warrior  brood !     So  crowned  with  towers 

ye  have  seen 
Ride  through  Phrygia's  cities  the  great  Berecynthian 

queen,1 
Proud  of  the  gods  her  children,  a  hundred  sons  at  her 

knee, 
All  of  them  mighty  immortals,  and  lords  of  a  heavenly 

fee !  794 

Turn  thy  glance  now  hither,  behold  this  glorious  clan, 
Romans  of  thine.     See  Caesar,  and  each  generation 

of  man 
Yet  to  be  born  of  lulus  beneath  heaven's   infinite 

dome. 
Yonder  behold  thy  hero,  the  promised  prince,  upon 

whom 
Often  thy  hopes  have  dwelt,  Augustus  Caesar,  by 

birth  799 

Kin  to  the  godlike  dead,  who  a  golden  age  upon  earth 
Comes   to   renew   where   once   o'er   Latiurn    Saturn 

reigned, 

Holding  remote  Garamantes  and  India's  tribes  en- 
chained. 
Far  beyond  all  our  planets  the  land  lies,  far  beyond 

high 
Heaven,  and  the  sun's  own  orbit,  where  Atlas,  lifting 

the  sky, 

1  Cybele,  the  mother  of  the  Gods.    Mt.  Berecyntus  in  Phrygia  was 
one  of  the  seats  of  her  worship. 


266  VIRGIL 

Whirls  on  his  shoulders  the  sphere,  inwrought  with 
its  fiery  suns  !  sos 

Ere  his  arrival,  lo !  through  shivering  Caspia 1  runs 

Fear,  at  her  oracle's  answers.  The  vast  Maeotian 
plain,2 

Sevenfold  Nile  and  his  mouths,  are  fluttered  and 
tremble  again ; 

Ranges  of  earth  more  wide  than  Alcides  ever  sur- 
veyed, 

Though  he  pursued  deer  brazen  of  limb,  tamed  Ery- 
manth's  3  glade,  ao 

Lerna  4  with  arrows  scared,  or  the  Vinegod,6  when  from 
the  war 

Homeward  with  ivied  reins  he  conducts  his  conquer- 
ing car, 

Driving  his  team  of  tigers  from  Nysa's  8  summits  afar. 

Art  thou  loth  any  longer  with  deeds  our  sway  to  ex- 
pand? 

Can  it  be  fear  forbids  thee  to  hold  Ausonia's  land  ?  sis 

"  Who  comes  yonder  the  while  with  the  olive  branch 

on  his  brow, 

Bearing  the  sacred  vessels  ?   I  know  yon  tresses,  I  know 
Yon  gray  beard,  Rome's  monarch,7  the  first  with  law 

to  sustain 
Rome  yet  young ;  from  the  lordship  of  Cures' 8  little 

domain 

1  The  country  of  the  Parthians,  southeast  of  the  Caspian  Sea. 

2  Maeotis  Pains  is  the  ancient  name  of  the  Sea  of  Azof. 

8  A  mountain  chain  in  the  northwest  corner  of  Arcadia,  the  haunt 
of  the  wild  boar  destroyed  by  Alcides  (Hercnles). 

4  The  marsh  near  Argos  where  Hercules  killed  the  Hydra. 

6  Bacchus.  lr  In  India,  the  scene  of  Bacchus'  nurture. 

7  Numa  Pompilins,  the  second  king1  of  Rome. 

8  The  ancient  Sabine  town  from  which  Numa  came. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES         267 

Sent  to  an  empire's  throne.     At  his   side   goes  one 

who  shall  break  820 

Slumberous  peace,  to  the  battle  her  easeful  warriors 

wake, 
House  once  more  her  battalions  disused  to  the  triumph 

so  long, 
Tullus  the  king  !     Next,  Ancus  the  boastful  marches 

along, 
See,  overjoyed  already  by  praises  breathed  from  a 

crowd ! 
Yonder  the  royal  Tarquins  are  visible  ;   yonder  the 

proud  825 

Soul  of  avenging  Brutus,1  with  Rome's  great  fasces 

again 
Made  Rome's  own ;  who  first  to  her  consul's  throne 

shall  attain, 

Hold  her  terrible  axes  :  his  sons,  the  rebellious  pair, 
Doom   to   a  rebel's  death  for  the  sake  of  Liberty 

fair. 
Ill-starred  sire  !  let  the  ages  relate  as  please  them  the 

tale,  830 

Yet  shall  his  patriot  passion  and  thirst  of  glory  pre- 
vail. 
Look  on  the  Decii 2  there,  and  the  Drusi ;  hatchet  in 

hand 
See  Torquatus  the  stern,  and  Camillus  home  to  his 

land 
Marching  with  rescued  banners.     But  yonder  spirits  3 

who  stand  334 

1  The  leader  of  the  revolution  which  resulted  in  the  expulsion  of 
the  Tarquins  from  Rome,  and  the  establishment  of  the  Republic. 

3  Like  the  following,  heroes  of  Republican  history. 

8  Caesar  and  Pompey.  The  civil  wars  of  the  last  days  of  the  Re- 
public are  foretold. 


268  VIRGIL 

Dressed  in  the  shining  armor  alike,  harmonious  now 
While  in  the  world  of  shadows  with  dark  night  over 

their  brow  — 
Ah !  what  battles  the  twain  must  wage,  what  legions 

array, 
What  fell  carnage  kindle,  if  e'er  they  reach  to  the 

day! 
Father1  descending  from  Alpine  snows  and  Monoe- 

cus's  2  height, 
Husband  ranging  against  him  an  Eastern  3  host  for 

the  fight !  8« 

Teach  not  your  hearts,  my  children,  to  learn  these 

lessons  of  strife  ; 

Turn  not  a  country's  valor  against  her  veriest  life. 
Thou  be  the  first  to  forgive,  great  child  of  a  heavenly 

birth, 
Fling  down,  son  of  my  loins,  thy  weapons  and  sword 

to  the  earth ! 

"  See,  who  4  rides  from  a  vanquished  Corinth  in  con- 
queror's car  845 

Home  to  the  Capitol,  decked  with  Achaean  spoils  from 
the  war ! 

Argos  and  proud  Mycenae  a  second 6  comes  to  de- 
throne, 

Ay,  and  the  Aeacus-born,6  whose  race  of  Achilles  is 
sown, 

1  Caesar,  whose  daughter  was  Pompey's  wife. 

2  The  modern  Monaco.     It  is  not  certain  that  Caesar  entered  Italy 
by  this  route. 

8  Pompey  had  a  large  number  of  Eastern  allies. 

4  The  poet  reverts  to  earlier  Republican  celebrities  with  a  reference 
to  M  mi  i  mi  us. 

6  Aemilius  Paulus. 

9  Perseus,  king  of  Macedonia. 


AENEAS1  DESCENT  INTO  HADES          269 

Venging  his  Trojan  sires   and    Minerva's   outraged 

fane! 
Who  would  leave  thee,  Cato,  untold  ?  thee,  Cossus, 

unknown  ?  aao 

Gracchus's  clan,  or  the  Scipio  pair,  war's  thunder- 
bolts twain, 

Libya's  ruin  ;  —  forget  Fabricius,  prince  in  his  need  ; 
Pass  unsung  Serranus,  his  furrows  sowing  with  seed  ? 
Give  me  but  breath,  ye  Fabians,  to  follow !  Yonder 

the  great 
Fabius  thou,  whose  timely  delays  gave  strength  to 

the  state.  %s 

Others  will  mould  their  bronzes   to  breathe  with  a 

tenderer  grace, 

Draw,  I  doubt  not,  from  marble  a  vivid  life  to  the  face, 
Plead  at  the  bar  more  deftly,  with  sapient  wands  of 

the  wise 
Trace  heaven's  courses  and  changes,  predict  us  stars 

to  arise,  a>9 

Thine,  O  Roman,  remember,  to  reign  over  every  race  ! 
These  be  thine  arts,  thy  glories,  the  ways  of  peace  to 

proclaim, 
Mercy  to  show  to  the  fallen,  the  proud  with  battle  to 

tame ! " 

Thus  Anchises,  and  then  —  as  they  marvelled  —  fur- 
ther anon : 

"  Lo,  where  decked  in  a  conqueror's  spoils  Marcellus,1 
my  son, 

Strides  from  the  war !     How  he  towers  o'er  all  of  the 
warrior  train !  ses 

When  Rome  reels  with  the  shock  of   the  wild   in- 
vaders' alarm, 
1  One  of  the  chief  Roman  generals  in  the  Second  Punic  War. 


270  VIRGIL 

He  shall  sustain  her  state.  From  his  war-steed's  sad- 
dle, his  arm 

Carthage  and  rebel  Gaul  shall  destroy,  and  the  arms 
of  the  slain 

Victor  a  third  time  hang  in  his  father  Quirinus' 
fane." 

Then  Aeneas,  —  for  near  him  a  youth l  seemed  ever 
to  pace,  870 

Fair,  of  an  aspect  princely,  with  armor  of  glittering 
grace, 

Yet  was  his  forehead  joyless,  his  eye  cast  down  as  in 
grief :  — 

"  Who  can  it  be,  my  father,  that  walks  at  the  side  of 
the  chief? 

Is  it  his  son,  or  perchance  some  child  of  his  glorious 
race 

Born  from  remote  generations  ?  And  hark,  how  ring- 
ing a  cheer  875 

Breaks  from  his  comrades  round !  What  a  noble 
presence  is  here ! 

Though  dark  night  with  her  shadow  of  woe  floats  over 
his  face !  " 

Answer  again  Anchises  began  with  a  gathering  tear  : 

"Ask  me. not,  O  my  son,  of  thy  children's  infinite 
pain ! 

Fate  one  glimpse  of  the  boy  to  the  world  will  grant, 
and  again  no 

Take  him  from  life.  Too  puissant  methinks  to  im- 
mortals on  high 

Rome's  great  children  had  seemed,  if  a  gift  like  this 
from  the  sky 

1  Yonng  Marcellus,  the  nephew  of  Augnstus,  probably  intended 
by  the  Emperor  to  be  his  successor.     He  died  at  the  age  of  twenty. 


AENEAS'  DESCENT  INTO  HADES          271 

Longer   had  been   vouchsafed !      What   wailing    of 

warriors  bold 
Shall  from  the  funeral  plain  to  the  War-god's  city  be 

rolled ! 
What  sad  pomp  thine  eyes  will  discern,  what  pageant 

Of  WOe,  885 

When  by  his  new-made  tomb  thy  waters,  Tiber,  shall 

flow! 
Never  again  such  hopes  shall  a  youth  of  thy  lineage, 

Troy, 
Rouse  in  his  great  forefathers  of  Latium !     Never  a 

boy 
Nobler  pride   shall  inspire  in  the  ancient  Romulus 

land! 
Ah,  for  his  filial  love  !  for  his  old  world  faith !  for  his 

hand  390 

Matchless   in   battle!    Unharmed  what  foeman  had 

offered  to  stand 

Forth  in  his  path,  when  charging  on  foot  for  the  en- 
emy's ranks, 
Or   when   plunging    the    spur    in    his   foam-flecked 

courser's  flanks ! 
Child  of  a  nation's  sorrow !  if  thou  canst  baffle  the 

Fates' 
Bitter  decrees,  and  break  for  a  while  their  barrier 

gates,  895 

Thine  to  become  Marcellus  !     I  pray  thee,  bring  me 

anon 
Handfuls  of  lilies,  that  I  bright  flowers  may  strew  on 

my  son, 
Heap  on  the  shade  of  the  boy  unborn  these  gifts  at 

the  least, 

Doing  the  dead,  though  vainly,  the  last  sad  service." 

He  ceased. 


272  VIRGIL 

So  from  region  to  region  they  roam  with  curious  eyes, 

Traverse  the  spacious  plains  where  shadowy  darkness 
lies.  901 

One  by  one  Anchises  unfolds  each  scene  to  his  son, 

Kindling  his  soul  with  a  passion  for  glories  yet  to  be 
won. 

Speaks  of  the  wars  that  await  him  beneath  the  Ital- 
ian skies, 

Rude  Laurentian l  clans  and  the  haughty  Latinus' 
walls,  905 

How  to  avoid  each  peril,  or  bear  its  brunt,  as  befalls. 

Sleep  has  his  portals  twain ;  one  fashioned  of  horn,  it 

is  said, 
Whence  come  true  apparitions  by  exit  smooth  from 

the  dead ; 
One   with   the   polished   splendor   of    shining   ivory 

bright, 
False  are  the  only  visions  that  issue  thence  from  the 

night.  910 

Thither  Anchises  leads  them,  exchanging  talk  by  the 

way, 
There  speeds  Sibyl  and  son  by  the  ivory  gate  to  the 

day. 
Straight  to  his  vessels  and  mates  Aeneas  journeyed, 

and  bore 

Thence  for  Caieta's  harbor  along  the  Italian  shore. 

SIB  CHABLES  BOWBN. 

1  Laurcntum  was  the  chief  seat  of  Latinus,  king  of  Latiuiu. 


HORACE 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

WHAT  Virgil  did  for  epic  poetry,  Horace  did  for  lyric. 
Disregarding  everything  that  Roman  precursors  in  the  same 
field  had  attempted,  he  looked  to  Greek  poetry  for  his 
models.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  speak  slightingly  of 
Catullus,  whose  lyrical  gift  far  surpassed  his  own.  His 
position  in  literature  is  unique.  Without  any  very  special 
inspiration,  intensity  of  feeling,  or  profundity  of  thought, 
he  produced  a  body  of  verse  that  not  only  succeeded  in 
winning  the  interest  of  his  own  generation,  but  has  held  the 
attention  of  all  subsequent  ages.  The  real  basis  of  this 
success  is  probably  the  character  of  the  man,  with  his  wide 
human  sympathy,  his  practical  wisdom  and  knowledge  of 
the  world,  and  his  fund  of  humor  and  good  fellowship,  — 
qualities  which  find  their  expression  through  a  medium  to 
which  felicity  of  phrase,  unusual  skill  in  handling  metrical 
forms,  and  the  fine  sense  of  appropriateness  in  figure,  word, 
and  theme,  which  is  an  attribute  of  the  artist  only,  give  a 
rare  distinction. 

He  was  a  freedman's  son,  born  at  Venusia,  a  town  on  the 
confines  of  Apulia,  in  65  B.  c.  Of  his  education  at  Rome, 
which  he  owed  to  his  father's  foresight  and  self-sacrifice,  he 
himself  tells  us  something  in  his  Satires. 

If  pure  and  innocent  I  live,  and  dear 
To  those  I  love  (self-praise  is  venial  here), 
All  this  I  owe  my  father,  who,  though  poor, 
Lord  of  some  few  lean  acres,  and  no  more, 
Was  loath  to  send  me  to  the  village  school, 
Whereto  the  sons  of  men  of  mark  and  role  — 


274  HORACE 

Centurions  and  the  like  —  were  wont  to  swarm, 
With  slate  and  satchel  on  sinister  arm, 
And  the  poor  dole  of  scanty  pence  to  pay 
The  starveling  teacher  monthly  to  the  day  ; 
But  boldly  took  me  when  a  boy  to  Rome, 
There  to  be  taught  all  arts,  that  grace  the  home 
Of  knight  and  senator. 

He  afterwards  went  to  Athens  to  continue  his  studies,  and  he 
was  there  at  the  time  of  the  assassination  of  Caesar.  His 
sympathies  at  this  period  of  his  life  seem  to  have  been 
strongly  Republican,  for  he  joined  the  forces  of  Brutus  and 
Cassius,  and  fought  as  a  military  tribune  at  Philippi.  The 
seventh  ode  of  the  second  book  has  a  humorous  reference 
to  his  experience  as  a  soldier.  When  the  war  was  over  he 
was  pardoned,  and  returned  to  Rome,  where  he  became 
one  of  that  coterie  of  literary  men  which  was  known  as  the 
Maecenas  circle,  enjoying  the  patronage  of  Augustus'  prime 
minister,  and  of  Augustus  himself.  Here  or  at  his  villa  in 
the  Sabine  country,  which  he  owed  to  the  generosity  of 
Maecenas,  he  spent  his  life,  perfectly  content  with  a  modest 
competence  and  the  fame  which  his  writings  won  him. 

His  works  consist  of  four  books  of  Odes,  the  Carmen 
Saeculare,  composed  for  the  celebration  of  the  Secular 
Games  under  Augustus,  a  number  of  Epodes,  two  books  of 
Satires,  and  two  books  of  Epistles.  The  collection  of  Odes 
shows  a  great  variety  of  subjects.  Some  of  them  are  love 
poems  written  in  the  mock  serious  tone  which  is  peculiarly 
Horatian :  for  example,  the  thirteenth  of  the  first  book,  ad- 
dressed to  Lydia,  the  sixteenth,  to  Tyndaris,  the  nineteenth, 
to  Glycera,  the  twenty-third,  to  Chloe,  the  eighth  of  the 
second  book,  to  Barine,  the  tenth  of  the  third,  to  Lyce.  The 
length  of  the  list  will  serve  to  show  that  our  poet's  affec- 
tions had  a  wider  range  than  is  altogether  consistent  with 
even  a  moderate  standard  of  constancy.  A  much  more 
serious  vein  appears  in  the  odes  devoted  to  questions  of 
politics  and  morals,  as  the  fourteenth  of  the  first  book, 
To  the  Ship  of  State,  and  the  noble  series  at  the  beginning 


HORACE  275 

of  the  third  book.  Another  class  consists  of  those  in  which 
we  see  the  poet  in  relation  to  his  friends.  As  examples 
may  be  cited  from  the  first  book  the  third,  in  which  he  gives 
Godspeed  to  the  ship  on  which  Virgil  sailed  for  Greece,  the 
twentieth,  an  invitation  to  Maecenas  to  visit  him  at  his  Sa- 
bine  farm,  and  the  twenty-ninth,  in  which  he  rallies  Iccius 
on  his  military  ambition.  The  Odes  are  arranged  within 
the  different  books  with  regard  to  variety  of  theme  and 
metre.  In  the  Epodes,  which  stand  first,  in  order  of  com- 
position, of  all  the  poet's  works,  and  which  are  written  in 
the  iambic  metre,  there  is  a  strong  element  of  invective, 
several  of  them  being  directed  against  individuals  who  in 
one  way  or  another  had  aroused  the  poet's  ire,  e.  g.,  the 
parvenu  whose  ambition  was  to  attract  attention  on  the  Sacra 
Via  by  his  elaborate  dress  (IV.),  the  alleged  sorceress  Cani- 
dia  (V.),  and  the  writer  who  made  better  men  than  himself 
the  objects  of  his  libellous  attacks  (VI.).  The  tone  of  the 
Satires  is  much  more  moderate.  These  are  in  hexameters, 
and  are  delightful  sketches  of  different  phases  of  Roman  lit- 
erary and  social  conditions.  Among  the  most  famous  is  the 
fifth  of  the  first  book,  which  describes  the  various  incidents 
of  a  journey  from  Rome  to  Brundisium  which  Horace  took 
with  Maecenas,  Virgil,  and  other  well-known  men.  The 
ninth  of  the  same  book  is  a  delightfully  humorous  account 
of  Horace's  encounter  with  a  bore  on  the  Sacra  Via.  The 
tenth  deals  with  literary  subjects.  In  the  second  book  the 
sixth  contrasts  life  in  the  country  and  life  in  the  town,  the 
eighth  gives  a  picture  of  a  parvenu's  dinner  party.  In  the 
first  book  of  the  Epistles  we  have  perhaps  the  poet's  best 
work.  Some  of  the  themes  are  not  unlike  those  treated  in 
the  Satires,  but  the  style,  informal  and  easy  as  ever,  has 
a  still  subtler  charm  that  comes  from  greater  maturity. 
The  second  book  is  confined  to  literary  topics,  the  third 
epistle  being  the  famous  Art  of  Poetry,  Horace's  most  pre- 
tentious essay  in  the  field  of  literary  criticism. 


276  HORACE 

TO  LYDIA 
(Odes,  L,  8.) 

WHY,  Lydia,  why, 
I  pray,  by  all  the  gods  above, 

Art  so  resolved  that  Sybaris  should  die, 
And  all  for  love  ? 

Why  doth  he  shun  5 

The  Campus  Martins'  *  sultry  glare  ? 

He  that  once  recked  of  neither  dust  nor  sun, 
Why  rides  he  there, 

First  of  the  brave, 
Taming  the  Gallic  steed  no  more  ?  10 

Why  doth  he  shrink  from  Tiber's  yellow  wave  ? 
Why  thus  abhor 

The  wrestler's  oil, 
As  't  were  from  viper's  tongue  distilled  ? 

Why  do  his  arms  no  livid  bruises  soil,  is 

He,  once  so  skilled, 

The  disc  or  dart 
Far,  far  beyond  the  mark  to  hurl, 

And  tell  me,  tell  me,  in  what  nook  apart, 
Like  baby-girl,  20 

Lurks  the  poor  boy, 
Veiling  his  manhood,  as  did  Thetis'  son,2 

To  'scape  war's  bloody  clang,  while  fated  Troy 

Was  yet  undone  ? 

Sm  THEODORE  MARTIN. 

1  The  plain  by  the  Tiber,  where  the  Roman  youth  exercised. 

2  Achilles,  who  was  disguised  as  a  girl  by  his  mother  to  prevent 
his  being  taken  to  the  Trojan  war. 


WINTER  277 

WINTER 

(Odes,  L,  9.) 

SEE,  Thaliarch,  see,  across  the  plain 

Soracte  l  white  with  snow  ! 
Scarce  may  the  laboring  woods  sustain 
Their  load,  and  locked  in  icy  chain 

The  streams  have  ceased  to  flow.  5 

Logs  on  the  fire,  your  biggest,  fling, 

To  thaw  the  pinching  cold, 
And  from  the  time  to  take  its  sting 
A  pipkin  forth  of  Sabine  bring, 

Four  mellowing  summers  old.  10 

All  else  unto  the  Gods  leave  we ; 

When  they  have  stilled  the  roar 
Of  winds  that  with  the  yeasty  sea 
Conflict  and  brawl,  the  cypress-tree, 

The  old  ash  shake  no  more.  is 

What  with  to-morrow  comes  forbear 

To  ask,  and  count  as  gain 
Each  day  fate  grants,  ere  time  and  care 
Have  chilled  thy  blood,  and  thinned  thy  hair, 

Love's  sweets  do  not  disdain  ;  20 

Nor,  boy,  disdain  the  dance !     For,  mark, 

Now  is  thy  time  to  take 
Joy  in  the  play,  the  crowded  park, 
And  those  low  whispers  in  the  dark, 

Which  trysting  lovers  make.  25 

1  Mt.  Soracte,  about  twenty-five  miles  north  of  Rome. 


278  HORACE 

In  the  sweet  laugh,  that  marks  the  spot 

Where  hid  the  fair  one  lies, 
The  token  from  the  wrist  besought, 
Or  from  the  finger  wrung,  that  not 

Too  cruelly  denies.  30 

SIB  THEODORE  MARTIN. 

TO  LEUCONOE 
(Odes,  L,  11.) 

ASK  not  ('t  is  forbidden  knowledge)  what  our  destined 

term  of  year, 

Mine  and  yours ;  nor  scan  the  tables  of  your  Baby- 
lonish seers. 
Better  far  to  bear  the  future,  my  Leuconoe,  like  the 

past, 
Whether  Jove  has  many  winters  yet  to  give,  or  this 

our  last ; 
This,  that  makes  the  Tyrrhene  billows  spend  their 

strength  against  the  shore ;  5 

Strain   your  wine,  and  prove  your  wisdom ;   life   is 

short ;  should  hope  be  more  ? 
In  the  moment  of  our  talking,  envious  time  has  ebb'd 

away. 
Seize   the  present :  trust  to-morrow  e'en  as  little  as 

you  may. 

JOHN  CONINGTON. 

TO  THE  SHIP  OF  STATE1 
(Odes,  L,  14.) 

O  SHIP  of  state, 
Shall  new  winds  bear  you  back  upon  the  sea  ? 

1  This  ode  was  written  at  a  time  when  there  seemed  to  be  some 
possibility  of  civil  war  breaking  out  again. 


TO  THE  SHIP  OF  STATE  279 

What  are  you  doing  ?     Seek  the  harbor's  lee 
Ere  't  is  too  late ! 

Do  you  bemoan  5 

Your  side  was  stripped  of  oarage  in  the  blast  ? 
Swift  Africus  has  weakened,  too,  your  mast ; 

The  sailyards  groan. 
i 

Of  cables 1  bare, 

Your  keel  can  scarce  endure  the  lordly  wave.     10 
Your  sails  are  rent ;  you  have  no  gods  2  to  save, 

Or  answer  pray'r. 

Though  Pontic  pine, 
The  noble  daughter  of  a  far-famed  wood, 
You  boast  your  lineage  and  title  good,  —  M 

A  useless  line ! 

The  sailor  there 

In  painted  sterns  no  reassurance  finds ; 
Unless  you  owe  derision  to  the  winds, 

Beware  —  beware !  20 

My  grief  erewhile, 

But  now  my  care  —  my  longing  !  shun  the  seas 
That  flow  between  the  gleaming  Cyclades,3 

Each  shining  isle. 

ROSWKLL  MARTIN  FIELD. 

1  The  ancients  girded  their  vessels  with  cables  in  rough  -weather 
to  prevent  the  planks  from  springing  asunder. 

2  Images  of  gods  were  carried  in  the  sterns  of  Roman  ships.    Here 
they  are  represented  as  having  been  washed  overboard. 

8  The  Aegean  Sea  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Cyclades  was  pro- 
verbially dangerous. 


280  HORACE 

INNOCENCE 
(Odes,  L,  22.) 

Fuscus,  the  man  of  life  upright  and  pure, 
Needeth  nor  javelin,  nor  bow  of  Moor, 
Nor  arrows  tipped  with  venom  deadly-sure, 
Loading  his  quiver : 

Whether  o'er  Afric's  burning  sands  he  rides,         5 
Or  frosty  Caucasus'  bleak  mountain-sides, 
Or  wanders  lonely,  where  Hydaspes  l  glides, 
That  storied  river. 

For  as  I  strayed  along  the  Sabine  wood, 
Singing  my  Lalage  in  careless  mood,  10 

Lo,  all  at  once  a  wolf  before  me  stood, 
Then  turned  and  fled  : 

Creature  so  huge  did  warlike  Daunia  2  ne'er 
Engender  in  her  forests'  wildest  lair, 
Not  Juba's  3  land,  parched  nurse  of  lions,  e'er        is 
Such  monster  bred. 

Place  me,  where  no  life-laden  summer  breeze 
Freshens  the  meads,  or  murmurs  'mongst  the  trees, 
Where  clouds  oppress,  and  withering  tempests  freeze 
From  shore  to  shore ;  20 

Place  me  beneath  the  sunbeams'  fiercest  glare, 
On  arid  sands,  no  dwelling  anywhere  ; 

1  In  India. 

3  Apulia,  Horace's  native  province. 

8  King  of  Mauritania  in  northern  Africa. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A   FRIEND  281 

Still  Lalage's  sweet  smile,  sweet  voice  even  there 

I  will  adore. 

Sot  THEODORE  MARTIN. 


TO  CHLOE 

(Odes,  I.,  23.) 

You  fly  me,  Chloe  !  like  a  vagrant  fawn, 
Tracing  the  footprints  of  its  parent  deer 

Through  each  sequestered  path  and  mazy  lawn, 
While  woods  and  winds  excite  a  causeless  fear. 

For  should  the  aspen  quiver  to  the  breeze,  s 

Or  the  green  lizards  rustle  in  the  brake, 

It  bounds  in  vague  alarm  among  the  trees, 
Its  heart-pulse  flutters,  and  its  fibres  quake. 

Yet  not  as  tigers  do  I  follow  you, 

Or  Libyan  lion,  to  destroy  your  charms  ;  10 

Then  cease  to  linger  in  a  mother's  view, 

And  learn  the  rapture  of  a  lover's  arms. 

LORD  RAVENSWORTH. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND1 
(Odes,  I.,  24.) 

WHY  should  we  stem  the  tears  that  needs  must  flow, 
Why  blush,  that  they  should  freely  flow  and  long, 

To  think  of  that  dear  head  in  death  laid  low  ? 
Do  thou  inspire  my  melancholy  song, 

1  Quintilins  Varus,  an  intimate  friend  of  Horace  and  Virgil.    The 
ode  is  addressed  to  the  latter. 


282  HORACE 

Melpomene,1  in  whom  the  Muses'  sire  5 

Joined  with  a  liquid  voice  the  mastery  of  the  lyre  ! 

And  hath  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking  morn 
Closed  o'er  Quintilius,  our  Quintilius  dear  ? 

Where  shall  be  found  the  man  of  woman  born 

That  in  desert  might  be  esteemed  his  peer,  —        10 

Sincere  as  he,  and  resolutely  just, 

So  high  of  heart,  and  all  so  absolute  of  trust  ? 

He  sinks  into  his  rest,  bewept  of  many, 
And  but  the  good  and  noble  weep  for  him, 

But  dearer  cause  thou,  Virgil,  hast  than  any,  is 

With  friendship's  tears  thy  friendless  eyes  to  dim ! 

Alas,  alas !  Not  to  such  woeful  end 

Didst  thou  unto  the  gods  thy  prayers  unceasing  send ! 

What  though  thou  modulate  the  tuneful  shell 

With  defter  skill  than  Orpheus  of  old  Thrace,       20 

When  deftliest  he  played,  and  with  its  spell 
Moved  all  the  listening  forest  from  its  place  ? 

Yet  never,  never  can  thy  art  avail 

To  bring  life's  glowing  tide  back  to  the  phantom  pale, 

Whom  with  his  black  inexorable  wand,  as 

Hermes,2  austere  and  pitiless  as  fate, 
Hath  forced  to  join  the  dark  and  spectral  band 

In  their  sad  journey  to  the  Stygian  gate. 
'T  is  hard,  great  heavens,  how  hard !  But  to  endure 
Alleviates  the  pang  we  may  nor  crush  nor  cure  !        so 

Sot  THEODOHE  MARTIN. 

1  The  muse  of  tragedy. 

2  It  was  one  of  the  functions  of  Hermes  to  conduct  the  souk  of 
tin-  dead  to  the  lower  world. 


TO   LYDIA  283 

TO  LYDIA 
(Odes,  L,  25.) 

SWAINS  in  numbers 
Break  your  slumbers, 
Saucy  Lydia,  now  but  seldom, 

Ay,  though  at  your  casement  nightly, 
Tapping  loudly,  tapping  lightly,  5 

By  the  dozen  once  ye  held  them. 

Ever  turning, 
Night  and  morning, 
Swung  your  door  upon  its  hinges  ; 

Now,  from  dawn  till  evening's  closing,  10 

Lone  and  desolate  reposing, 
Not  a  soul  its  rest  infringes. 

Serenaders, 
Sweet  invaders, 

Scanter  grow,  and  daily  scanter,  is 

Singing,  "  Lydia,  art  thou  sleeping  ? 
Lonely  watch  thy  love  is  keeping ! 
Wake,  oh  wake,  thou  dear  enchanter !  " 

Lorn  and  faded, 

You,  as  they  did,  20 

Woo,  and  in  your  turn  are  slighted ; 
Worn  and  torn  by  passion's  fret, 
You,  the  pitiless  coquette, 
Waste  by  fires  yourself  have  lighted, 

• 

Late  relenting,  25 

Half  lamenting  — 


284  HORACE 

"  Withered  leaves  strew  wintry  brooks ! 
Ivy  garlands  greenly  darkling, 
Myrtles  brown  with  dewdrops  sparkling, 
Best  beseem  youth's  glowing  looks  !  "  30 

SIB  THEODOKE  MAHTIN. 


SIMPLICITY 

(Odes,  I.,  38.) 

OFF  with  Persian  gear,  I  hate  it, 

Hate  the  wreaths  with  limebark  bound, 

Care  not  where  the  latest  roses 
Linger  on  the  ground. 

Bring  me  myrtle,  naught  but  myrtle  I 

Myrtle,  boy,  will  well  combine 
Thee  attending,  me  carousing, 

'Neath  the  trellised  vine. 

W.  E.  GLADSTONE. 


A  WOMAN'S  WORD 

(Odes,  IL,  8.) 

BABINE  !  if  some  vengeance  dread 
Fell  on  your  trebly  perjured  head, 
Did  but  a  single  tooth  or  nail 
Turn  black,  I  might  believe  your  tale ! 

But  still  the  oftener  that  you  dare 
To  outrage  heaven  with  oaths,  more  fair 
That  face  becomes",  and,  still  the  more, 
Admirers  thicken  and  adore. 


THE  GOLDEN  MEAN  285 

It  answers  then  to  treat  with  scorn l 

A  parent's  ashes,  and  suborn  10 

The  silent  stars  and  heavenly  powers, 

To  favor  falsehood  such  as  yours. 

For  Venus  laughs  at  woman's  wiles  ; 

The  Graces  laugh,  and  Cupid  smiles, 

All  as  he  barbs  his  glowing  darts  15 

On  whetstone  red  with  bleeding  hearts. 

Besides,  each  day  augments  your  train, 

Each  hour  new  charms  your  slaves  enchain  ; 

Nay,  even  those  who  late  forswore 

Your  roof  still  linger  round  the  door.  20 

The  mothers  for  their  striplings  dread, 
Old  men,  and  virgins  lately  wed, 
Lest  thine  alluring  air  delay 
The  bridegroom  on  his  homeward  way. 

LORD  RAVBNSWOBTH. 


THE  GOLDEN  MEAN 

(Odes,  IL,  10.) 

LICINIUS,  wouldst  thou  steer  life's  wiser  voyage, 
Neither  launch  always  into  deep  mid-waters, 
Nor  hug  the  shores,  and,  shrinking  from  the  tempest, 
Hazard  the  quicksand. 

He  who  elects  the  golden  mean  of  fortune,  s 

Nor  where  dull  squalor  rots  the  time-worn  hovel, 
Nor  where  fierce  envy  storms  the  new-built  palace, 
Makes  his  safe  dwelling. 
1  To  swear  falsely  by  them. 


286  HORACE 

The  wildest  winds  rock  most  the  loftiest  pine-trees, 
The  heaviest  crash  is  that  of  falling  towers,  10 

The  spots  on  earth  most  stricken  by  the  lightning 
Are  its  high  places. 

The  mind  well-trained  to  cope  with  either  fortune, 
Takes  hope  in  adverse  things  and  fear  in  prosperous ; 
Deforming  winters  are  restored  or  banished  is 

By  the  same  Father. 

If  to-day  frown,  not  therefore  frowns  to-morrow ; 
His  deadly  bow  not  always  bends  Apollo, 
His  hand  at  times  the  silent  muse  awakens 

With  the  sweet  harpstring.  20 

In  life's  sore  straits  brace  and  display  thy  courage  ; 

Boldness  is  wisdom  then  :  as  wisely  timid 

When  thy  sails  swell  with  winds  too  strongly  f av'ring, 

Heed,  and  contract  them. 

LORD  LYTTOK. 

A  RECONCILIATION 

(Odes,  IH.,  9.) 

HORACE 

WHEN  thy  fair  neck  had  never  felt 
Caress  more  dear  than  mine, 
I  happier  lived  than  Persia's  King, 
For  I  was  thine. 

LTDIA 

When  thy  hot  heart  had  never  burned  5 

For  Chloe,  and  was  mine, 

I  lived  more  famed  than  Ilia,1 

For  I  was  thine. 
1  The  mother  of  Romulus  and  Remus. 


TO  THE  SPRING   OF  BANDUSIA  287 

HORACE 

To  me  my  Thracian  Chloe's  rule 
A  joy  most  sweet  doth  give.  10 

With  songs  and  lute  she  charms  ;  I  'd  die 
That  she  might  live. 

LYDIA 

To  me  my  Thurian  *  Calais 
A  burning  love  doth  give  ; 
A  mutual  love,  for  I  'd  twice  die  w 

That  he  might  live. 

HORACE 

What  if  I  ope  the  door  to  thee, 

And  auburn  Chloe  spurn  ; 

If  with  a  lasting  yoke  we  're  joined, 

And  love  return  ?  20 

LYDIA 

Though  fickle  thou  as  cork,  and  rough 
As  Hadria,2  while  he 
Is  fairer  than  a  star,  —  I  'd  live, 
I  'd  die  with  thee. 

NOBMA  ROSE  WATERBUBT. 


TO  THE  SPRING  OF  BANDUSIA 
(Odes,  IH.,  13.) 

BANDUSIA'S  fount,  in  clearness  crystalline, 
O  worthy  of  the  wine,  the  flowers  we  vow ! 
To-morrow  shall  be  thine 

A  kid,  whose  crescent  brow 
1  Of  Thurii,  a  city  in  Lucania.  2  The  Adriatic  Sea. 


288  HORACE 

Is  sprouting  all  for  love  and  victory  5 

In  vain :  his  warm  red  blood,  so  easily  stirred, 
Thy  gelid  stream  shall  dye, 
Child  of  the  wanton  herd. 

Thee  the  fierce  Sirian  star,1  to  madness  fired,         9 
Forbears  to  touch :  sweet  cool  thy  waters  yield, 
To  ox  with  ploughing  tired, 
And  lazy  sheep  a-field. 

Thou,  too,  one  day  shalt  win  proud  eminence 
'Mid  honored  founts,  while  I  the  ilex  sing 

Crowning  the  cavern  whence  is 

Thy  babbling  wavelets  spring. 

JOHN  CONINGTON. 

TO  MAECENAS 
(Odes,  IIL,  29.) 

MAECENAS,  thou  whose  lineage  springs 

From  old  Etruria's  Kings, 

Come  to  my  humble  dwelling.2     Haste ; 

A  cask  unbroached  of  mellow  wine 
Awaits  thee,  roses  interlaced,  5 

And  perfumes  pressed  from  nard  divine. 
Leave  Tibur  3  sparkling  with  its  hundred  rills ; 

Forget  the  sunny  slopes  of  Aesulae,4 
And  rugged  peaks  of  Telegonian  hills  6 

That  frown  defiance  on  the  Tuscan  sea.  10 

1  The  dog-star.  •  His  Sabine  villa. 

8  The  modern  Tivoli,  about  sixteen  miles  northeast  of  Rome. 

4  Properly  Aesula,  a  Latin  town  between  Tibur  and  Praeneste. 

6  It  was  on  a  ridge  of  these  mountains  that  Tusculum,  said  to  have 
been  founded  by  Telegonus,  son  of  Ulysses,  was  situated,  about  ten 
miles  southeast  of  Rome. 


TO  MAECENAS  289 

Forego  vain  pomps,  nor  gaze  around 
From  the  tall  turret  of  thy  palace  home 

On  crowded  marts,  and  summits  temple-crowned, 
The  smoke,  the  tumult,  and  the  wealth  of  Rome. 
Come,  loved  Maecenas,  come  !  15 

How  oft  in  lowly  cot 

Uncurtained,  nor  with  Tyrian  purple  spread, 

Has  weary  state  pillowed  its  aching  head, 
And  smoothed  its  wrinkled  brow,  all  cares  forgot  ? 
Come  to  my  frugal  feast,  and  share  my  humble  lot. 
For  now  returning  Cepheus l  shoots  again  21 

His  fires  long  hid  ;  now  Procyon  and  the  star 
Of  the  untamed  Lion  blaze  amain  : 

Now  the  light  vapors  in  the  heated  air 
Hang  quivering :  now  the  shepherd  leads  25 

His  panting  flock  to  willow  bordered  meads 
By  river  banks,  or  to  those  dells 
Remote,  profound,  where  rough  Sylvanus 2  dwells, 
Where  by  mute  margins  voiceless  waters  creep, 
And  the  hushed  Zephyrs  sleep.  30 

Too  long  by  civil  cares  opprest 
Snatch  one  short  interval  of  rest, 
Nor  fear  lest  from  the  frozen  north 
Don's  arrowed  thousands  issue  forth, 
Or  hordes  from  realms  by  Cyrus  won,  35 

Or  Scythians  from  the  rising  sun. 

Around  the  future  Jove  has  cast 

A  veil  like  night :  he  gives  us  power 

1  The  constellation  of  which  Cepheus  formed  a  part,  rggg  on  the 
9th  ofjnly,  Procyon  on  the  15th  of  July,  and  Regulus,  the  brightest 
star  of  the  Lion,  on  the  30th  of  July. 

a  The  deity  who  presided  over  fields  and  forests. 


290  HORACE 

To  see  the  present  and  the  past, 

But  kindly  hides  the  future  hour,  w 

And  smiles  when  man  with  daring  eye 
Would  pierce  that  dread  futurity. 

Wisely  and  justly  guide  thy  present  state, 
Life's  daily  duty  :  the  dark  future  flows 
Like  some  broad  river,  now  in  calm  repose,  45 

Gliding  untroubled  to  the  Tyrrhene  Shore, 

Now  by  fierce  floods  precipitate, 
And  on  its  frantic  bosom  bearing 
Homes,  herds,  and  flocks, 
Drowned  men,  and  loosened  rocks ;  so 

Uprooted  trees  from  groaning  forests  tearing  ; 

Tossing  from  peak  to  peak  the  sullen  waters'  roar. 

Blest  is  the  man  who  dares  to  say, 

"  Lord  of  myself,  I  've  lived  to-day  : 

To-morrow  let  the  Thunderer  roll  55 

Storm  and  thick  darkness  round  the  pole, 

Or  purest  sunshine  :  what  is  past 

Unchanged  for  evermore  shall  last. 

Nor  man,  nor  Jove's  resistless  sway 

Can  blot  the  record  of  one  vanished  day."  eo 

Fortune,  capricious,  faithless,  blind, 

With  cruel  joy  her  pastime  plays, 

Exalts,  enriches,  and  betrays, 
One  day  to  me,  anon  to  others  kind. 

I  praise  her  while  she  stays  ;  —  65 

But  when  she  shakes  her  wanton  wing 
And  soars  away,  her  gifts  to  earth  1  fling, 
And  wrapped  in  Virtue's  mantle  live  and  die 
Content  with  dowerless  poverty. 
When  the  tall  ship  with  bending  mast 


COUNTRY  LIFE  291 

Reels  to  the  fury  of  the  blast, 

The  merchant  trembles,  and  deplores 

Not  his  own  fate,  but  buried  stores 

From  Cyprian  or  Phoenician  shores  ;  — 

He  with  sad  vows  and  unavailing  prayer  75 

Rich  ransom  proffers  to  the  angry  Gods  : 
I  stand  erect :  no  groans  of  mine  shall  e'er 

Affront  the  quiet  of  those  blest  abodes  : 
My  light  unburthened  skiff  shall  sail 
Safe  to  the  shore  before  the  gale,  so 

While  the  twin  sons 1  of  Leda  point  the  way, 
And  smooth  the  billows  with  benignant  ray. 

SIB  STEPHEN  DE  VERB. 


COUNTRY  LIFE 
(Epodes,  IL) 

"  How  happy  in  his  low  degree, 
How  rich  in  humble  poverty,  is  he 
Who  leads  a  quiet  country  life ; 
Discharg'd  of  business,  void  of  strife, 
And  from  the  griping  scrivener  free  !  5 

Thus  ere  the  seeds  of  vice  were  sown, 

Liv'd  men  in  better  ages  born, 
Who  plough'd,  with  oxen  of  their  own, 

Their  small  paternal  field  of  corn. 
Nor  trumpets  summon  him  to  war,  10 

Nor  drums  disturb  his  morning  sleep, 
Nor  knows  he  merchants'  gainful  care, 

Nor  fears  the  dangers  of  the  deep. 
The  clamors  of  contentious  law, 

And  court  and  state,  he  wisely  shuns,          w 

1  Castor  and  Pollux,  who  watched  over  mariners. 


292  HORACE 

Nor  brib'd  with  hopes,  nor  dar'd  with  awe, 

To  servile  salutations  runs  ; 
But  either  to  the  clasping  vine 

Does  the  supporting  poplar  wed, 
Or  with  his  pruning-hook  disjoin  20 

Unbearing  branches  from  their  head, 

And  grafts  more  happy  in  their  stead : 
Or,  climbing  to  a  hilly  steep, 

He  views  his  herds  in  vales  afar, 
Or  shears  his  overburden'd  sheep,  » 

Or  mead  for  cooling  drink  prepares, 
Of  virgin  honey  in  the  jars. 
Or,  in  the  now  declining  year, 

When  bounteous  Autumn  rears  his  head, 
He  joys  to  pull  the  ripen'd  pear,  30 

And  clust'ring  grapes  with  purple  spread. 
The  fairest  of  his  fruit  he  serves, 

Priapus,1  thy  rewards : 
Sylvanus  too  his  part  deserves, 

Wlwse  care  the  fences  guards.  » 

Sometimes  beneath  an  ancient  oak, 

Or  on  the  matted  grass,  he  lies : 
No  god  of  Sleep  he  need  invoke ; 

The  stream,  that  o'er  the  pebbles  flies, 

With  gentle  slumber  crowns  his  eyes.  40 

The  wind,  that  whistles  through  the  sprays, 

Maintains  the  consort  of  the  song ; 
And  hidden  birds,  with  native  lays, 

The  golden  sleep  prolong. 
But  when  the  blast  of  winter  blows,  45 

And  hoary  frost  inverts  the  year, 
Into  the  naked  woods  he  goes, 

And  seeks  the  tusky  boar  to  rear, 

1  A  god  of  the  fruitfulness  of  fields  and  of  cattle. 


COUNTRY  LIFE  293 

With  well-mouth'd  hounds  and  pointed  spear ! 
Or  spreads  his  subtle  nets  from  sight,  so 

With  twinkling  glasses,  to  betray 
The  larks  that  in  the  meshes  light, 

Or  makes  the  fearful  hare  his  prey. 
Amidst  his  harmless  easy  joys 

No  anxious  care  invades  his  health,  55 

Nor  love  his  peace  of  mind  destroys, 

Nor  wicked  avarice  of  wealth. 
But  if  a  chaste  and  pleasing  wife, 
To  ease  the  business  of  his  life, 
Divides  with  him  his  household  care,  eo 

Such  as  the  Sabine  matrons  were, 
Such  as  the  swift  Apulian's  bride, 

Sun-burnt  and  swarthy  though  she  be, 
Will  fire  for  winter  nights  provide, 

And  without  noise  will  oversee  es 

His  children  and  his  family ; 
And  order  all  things  till  he  come, 
Sweaty  and  overlabor'd  home  ; 
If  she  in  pens  his  flocks  will  fold, 

And  then  produce  her  dairy  store,  70 

With  wine  to  drive  away  the  cold, 

And  unbought  dainties  of  the  poor ; 
Not  oysters  of  the  Lucrine  lake l 

My  sober  appetite  would  wish, 

Nor  turbot,  or  the  foreign  fish  75 

That  rolling  tempests  overtake, 

And  hither  waft  the  costly  dish. 
Not  heathpout,  or  the  rarer  bird, 

Which  Phasis 2  or  Ionia  yields, 

1  Properly  an  inner  recess  of  the  Bay  of  Comae  on  the  coast  of 
Campania,  famous  for  its  oyster  beds. 

2  A  river  of  Colchis,  an  Asiatic  province  east  of  the  Black  Sea. 


294  HORACE 

More  pleasing  morsels  would  afford  so 

Than  the  fat  olives  of  my  fields  ; 
Than  shards  or  mallows  for  the  pot, 

That  keep  the  loosen 'd  body  sound, 
Or  than  the  lamb  that  falls  by  lot 

To  the  just  guardian  1  of  my  ground.  ss 

Amidst  these  feasts  of  happy  swains, 

The  jolly  shepherd  smiles  to  see 
His  flock  returning  from  the  plains  ; 

The  farmer  is  as  pleas'd  as  he, 
To  view  his  oxen,  sweating  smoke,  90 

Bear  on  their  necks  the  loosen'd  yoke  : 
To  look  upon  his  menial  crew, 

That  sit  around  his  cheerful  hearth, 
And  bodies  spent  in  toil  renew 

With  wholesome  food  and  country  mirth."          95 
This  Morecraft 2  said  within  himself ; 

Resolv'd  to  leave  the  wicked  town, 

And  live  retir'd  upon  his  own, 

He  call'd  his  money  in ; 

But  the  prevailing  love  of  pelf  too 

Soon  split  him  on  the  former  shelf, 
He  put  it  out  again. 

JOHN  DKTDEN. 


A  CHALLENGE 

(Epodes,  VI.) 

WHY  snap  at  the  guests  who  do  nobody  harm, 
Turning  tail  at  the  sight  of  a  wolf  ? 

1  Terminus,  the  god  of  boundaries. 

3  Here  at  the  end  of  the  poem  comes  the  surprise  that  the  en- 
thusiastic description  of  rural  life  is  bat  the  idle  dream  of  a  city 
money-lender. 


A  BORE  295 

0  cur  !  thy  vain  threats  why  not  venture  on  me, 
Who  can  give  back  a  bite  for  a  bite  ? 

Like  mastiff  Molossian l  or  Sparta's  dun  hound,         5 

Kindly  friend  to  the  shepherd  am  I, 
But  I  prick  up  my  ears  and  away  through  the  snows, 

If  a  wild  beast  of  prey  run  before  ; 
But  thou,  if  thou  fillest  the  woods  with  thy  bark, 

Art  struck  dumb  at  the  sniff  of  a  bone.  10 

Ah,  beware  !    I  am  rough  when  I  come  upon  knaves, 

Ah,  beware  of  a  toss  from  my  horns  ! 

1  'm  as  sharp  as  the  wit 2  whom  Lycambes  deceived, 

Or  the  bitter  foe  3  Bupalus  roused ; 
Dost  thou  think,  when  a  cur  shows  the  grin  of  his 
teeth,  15 

That  I  '11  weep,  unavenged,  like  a  child  ? 

LORD  LTTTON. 

A  BORE 

(Satires,  I,  9.) 

ALONG  the  Sacred  Road  4  I  strolled  one  day, 
Deep  in  some  bagatelle  (you  know  my  way), 
When  up  comes  one  whose  name  I  scarcely  knew  — 
"  The  dearest  of  dear  fellows  !  how  d'  ye  do  ?  " 
He  grasped  my  hand  —  "Well,  thanks  :  the  same  to 

you."  5 

Then,  as  he  still  kept  walking  by  my  side, 
To  cut  things  short,  "  You  've  no  commands  ?  "     I 

cried. 

1  From  the  country  of  the  Molossi  in  the  north  of  Greece. 

2  The  poet  Archilochus  (about  640  B.  c.),  whose  satirical  attacks 
drove  Lycambes  to  suicide. 

8  Hipponax,  a  poet  of  Ephesns  (about  540  B.  c.),  whose  satire  had 
a  similar  result  in  the  case  of  the  sculptor  Bnpalus. 
*  It  ran  through  the  Forum. 


296  HORACE 

"  Nay,  you  should  know  me  :  I  'm  a  man  of  lore." 

"  Sir,  I  'm  your  humble  servant  all  the  more." 

All  in  a  fret  to  make  him  let  me  go,  10 

I  now  walk  fast,  now  loiter  and  walk  slow, 

Now  whisper  to  my  servant,  while  the  sweat 

Ran  down  so  fast,  my  very  feet  were  wet. 

"  O  had  I  but  a  temper  worth  the  name, 

Like  yours,  Bolanus  !  "  1  inly  I  exclaim,  is 

While  he  keeps  running  on  at  a  hand-trot, 

About  the  town,  the  streets,  I  know  not  what. 

Finding  I  made  no  answer,  "  Ah  !  I  see, 

You  're  at  a  strait  to  rid  yourself  of  me ; 

But  't  is  no  use  :  I  'm  a  tenacious  friend,  20 

And  mean  to  hold  you  till  your  journey's  end." 

"  No  need  to  take  you  such  a  round :  I  go 

To  visit  an  acquaintance  you  don't  know : 

Poor  man  !  he 's  ailing  at  his  lodging,  far 

Beyond  the  bridge  where  Caesar's  gardens  are."        25 

"  Oh,  never  mind  :  I  've  nothing  else  to  do, 

And  want  a  walk,  so  I  '11  step  on  with  you." 

Down  go  my  ears,  in  donkey-fashion,  straight ; 

You  've  seen  them  do  it,  when  their  load  's  too  great. 

"  If  I  mistake  not,"  he  begins,  "  you  '11  find  so 

Viscus  2  not  more,  nor  Varius,  to  your  mind : 

There 's  not  a  man  can  turn  a  verse  so  soon, 

Or  dance  so  nimbly  when  he  hears  a  tune  : 

While,  as  for  singing  —  ah  !  my  forte  is  there : 

Tigellius'  3  self  might  envy  me,  I  '11  swear."  35 

He  paused  for  breath  :  I  falteringly  strike  in  : 

"  Have  you  a  mother  ?  have  you  kith  or  kin 

1  Some  hot-headed  friend  of  the  poet. 

2  Viscus  and  Varius  were  members  of  the  Maecenas  circle,  into 
•which  the  speaker  was  so  anxious  to  be  introduced. 

8  A  well-known  musician  to  whom  Julius  Caesar  and  afterwards 
Augustus  showed  favor. 


A  BORE  297 

To  whom  your  life  is  precious  ?  "     "  Not  a  soul : 
My  line 's  extinct :  I  have  interred  the  whole." 

0  happy  they  !  (so  into  thought  I  fell)  40 
After  life's  endless  babble  they  sleep  well : 

My  turn  is  next :  dispatch  me :  for  the  weird 

Has  come  to  pass  which  I  so  long  have  feared, 

The  fatal  weird  a  Sabine  beldame  sung, 

All  in  my  nursery  days,  when  life  was  young :  45 

"  No  sword  nor  poison  e'er  shall  take  him  off, 

Nor  gout,  nor  pleurisy,  nor  racking  cough : 

A  babbling  tongue  shall  kill  him  :  let  him  fly 

All  talkers,  as  he  wishes  not  to  die." 

We  got  to  Vesta's  temple,  and  the  sun  so 

Told  us  a  quarter  of  the  day  was  done. 
It  chanced  he  had  a  suit,  and  was  bound  fast 
Either  to  make  appearance  or  be  cast. 
"  Step  here  a  moment,  if  you  love  me."     "  Nay  ; 

1  know  no  law :  't  would  hurt  my  health  to  stay,        55 
And  then,  my  call."     "  I  'm  doubting  what  to  do, 
Whether  to  give  my  lawsuit  up  or  you." 

"  Me,  pray  !  "     "I  will  not."     On  he  strides  again  : 
I  follow,  unresisting,  in  his  train. 

"  How  stand  you  with  Maecenas  ?  "  he  began  :       eo 
"  He  picks  his  friends  with  care ;  a  shrewd  wise  man : 
In  fact,  I  take  it,  one  could  hardly  name 
A  head  so  cool  in  life's  exciting  game. 
'T  would  be  a  good  deed  done,  if  you  could  throw 
Your  servant  in  his  way  ;  I  mean,  you  know,  « 

Just  to  play  second  :  in  a  month,  I  '11  swear, 
You  'd  make  an  end  of  every  rival  there." 
"  Oh,  you  mistake  :  we  don't  live  there  in  league : 
I  know  no  house  more  sacred  from  intrigue : 
I  'm  never  distanced  in  my  friend's  good  grace           TO 
By  wealth  or  talent :  each  man  finds  his  place." 


298  HORACE 

"  A  miracle  !  if  't  were  not  told  by  you, 

I  scarce  should  credit  it."     "  And  yet  't  is  true." 

"  Ah,  well,  you  double  my  desire  to  rise 

To  special  favor  with  a  man  so  wise."  75 

"  You  've  but  to  wish  it :  't  will  be  your  own  fault, 

If,  with  your  nerve,  you  win  not  by  assault : 

He  can  be  won :  that  puts  him  on  his  guard, 

And  so  the  first  approach  is  always  hard." 

"  No  fear  of  me,  sir  :  a  judicious  bribe  so 

Will  work  a  wonder  with  a  menial  tribe  : 

Say,  I  'm  refused  admittance  for  to-day  ; 

I  '11  watch  my  time ;  I  '11  meet  him  in  the  way, 

Escort  him,  dog  him.     In  this  world  of  ours 

The  path  to  what  we  want  ne'er  runs  on  flowers."     85 

'Mid  all  this  prate  there  met  us,  as  it  fell, 
Aristius,  my  good  friend,  who  knew  him  well. 
We  stop :  inquiries  and  replies  go  round : 
"Where   do  you  hail  from?"      "Whither  are  you 

bound?" 

There  as  he  stood,  impassive  as  a  clod,  90 

I  pull  at  his  limp  arms,  frown,  wink,  and  nod, 
To  urge  him  to  release  me.     With  a  smile 
He  feigns  stupidity  :  I  burn  with  bile. 
"  Something  there  was  you  said  you  wished  to  tell 
To  me  in  private."     "  Ay,  I  mind  it  well ;  95 

But  not  just  now  :  'tis  a  Jews'  fast  to-day  : 
Affront  a  sect  so  touchy  !  nay,  friend,  nay." 
"  Faith,  I  've  no  scruples."     "  Ah  !  but  I  've  a  few  : 
I  'm  weak,  you  know,  and  do  as  others  do : 
Some  other  time :  excuse  me."     Wretched  me  !        100 
That  ever  man  so  black  a  sun  should  see ! 
Off  goes  the  rogue,  and  leaves  me  in  despair, 
Tied  to  the  altar  with  the  knife  in  air : 
When,  by  rare  chance,  the  plaintiff  in  the  suit 


A  LETTER  OF  INTRODUCTION  299 

Knocks  up  against  us :  "  Whither  now,  you  brute  ?  "  105 
He  roars  like  thunder  :  then  to  me  :  "  You  '11  stand 
My  witness,  sir  ?  "     "  My  ear 's  at  your  command."  1 
Off  to  the  court  he  drags  him  :  shouts  succeed  : 
A  mob  collects :  thank  Phoebus,  I  am  freed. 

JOHN  CONINGTON. 


A  LETTER  OF  INTRODUCTION 

(Epistles,  I.,  9.) 

SEPTIMIUS  2  only  understands,  't  would  seem, 

How  high  I  stand  in,  Claudius,3  your  esteem ; 

For  when  he  begs  and  prays  me,  day  by  day, 

Before  you  his  good  qualities  to  lay, 

As  not  unfit  to  share  the  heart  and  hearth  s 

Of  Nero,  who  selects  his  staff  for  worth ; 

When  he  supposes  you  to  me  extend 

The  rights  and  place  of  a  familiar  friend,  — 

Much  better  than  myself  he  sees  and  knows, 

How  far  with  you  my  commendation  goes.  10 

Plea  upon  plea,  believe  me,  I  have  used, 

In  hope  he  'd  hold  me  from  the  task  excused, 

Yet  feared  the  while,  it  might  be  thought  I  feigned 

Too  low  what  influence  I  perchance  have  gained ; 

Dissembling  it  as  nothing  with  my  friends,  is 

To  keep  it  for  my  own  peculiar  ends. 

So  to  escape  such  dread  reproach,  I  put 

1  It  was  customary,  on  calling  a  person  to  witness,  to  touch  his  ear, 
apparently  as  an  intimation  that  he  was  not  to  forget  what  he  then 
heard. 

2  It  is  to  this  Septimius  that  Horace  addresses  the  sixth  ode  of  the 
second  book. 

8  Afterwards  the  Emperor  Tiberius.    H'«  full  iiame  was  Tiberius 
Claudius  Nero. 


300  HORACE 

My  blushes  by,  and  boldly  urge  my  suit. 

If,  then,  you  hold  it  as  a  grace,  though  small, 

To  doff  one's  bashfulness  at  friendship's  call,  20 

Enroll  him  in  your  suite,  assured  you  '11  find 

A  man  of  heart  in  him,  as  well  as  mind. 

SIR  THEODORE  MARTIN. 


TO  HIS  BOOK » 
(Epistles,  I.,  20.) 

I  READ  the  meaning  of  that  wistful  look 
Towards  Janus  2  and  Vertumnus,  O  my  book  ! 
Upon  the  Sosii's3  shelves  you  long  to  stand, 
Rubbed  smooth  with  pumice  by  their  skilful  hand. 
You  chafe  at  lock  and  modest  seal;  you  groan,  5 

That  you  should  only  to  a  few  be  shown, 
And  sigh  by  all  the  public  to  be  read, 
You  in  far  other  notions  trained  and  bred. 
Well,  go  your  way,  whereso  you  please  and  when, 
But  once  sent  forth,  you  come  not  back  again.  :» 

"  Fool  that  I  was  !  why  did  I  change  my  lot  ?  " 
You  '11  cry,  when  wounded  in  some  tender  spot, 
And,  out  of  fashion  and  of  favor  grown, 
You  're  crumpled  up,  and  into  corners  thrown. 

Unless  my  ill-divining  spirit  be  is 

Warped  by  chagrin  at  your  perversity, 
Thus  with  sure  presage  I  forecast  your  doom  ; 
You  will  be  liked  by  Rome,  while  in  your  bloom, 
But  soon  as  e'er  the  thumbing  and  the  soil 

1  An  epilogue  to  the  first  book  of  the  Epistles. 
3  There  were  bookshops  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  temple  of  Janus 
and  of  Yi-rt miiiiiiH. 

*  A  prominent  firm  of  booksellers  and  publishers. 


TO  HIS  BOOK  301 

Of  vulgar  hands  shall  your  first  freshness  spoil,         20 

You  will  be  left  to  nibbling  worms  a  prey, 

Or  sent  as  wrappers  to  lands  far  away. 

Then  one,  whose  warnings  on  your  ears  fell  dead, 

With  a  grim  smile  will  note  how  you  have  sped, 

Like  him  who,  driven  past  patience  by  his  mule,       25 

Pushed  o'er  a  precipice  the  restive  fool,  — 

"  Oho !  so  you  're  determined  to  destroy 

Yourself  ?     Well,  do  it,  and  I  wish  you  joy  !  " 

Yet  one  thing  more  awaits  your  failing  age  ; 
That  in  suburban  schools  your  well-thumbed  page     so 
Will  be  employed  by  pedagogues  to  teach 
Young  boys  with  painful  pangs  the  parts  of  speech. 

But  if,  perchance,  some  sunny  afternoon 
To  hear  your  voice  shall  eager  ears  attune, 
Say,  that  though  born  a  freedman's  son,  possessed     35 
Of  slender  means,  beyond  the  parent  nest 
I  soared  on  ampler  wing  ;  thus  what  in  birth 
I  lack,  let  that  be  added  to  my  worth. 
Say,  that  in  war,  and  also  here  at  home, 
I  stood  well  with  the  foremost  men  of  Home ;  40 

That  small  in  stature,  prematurely  grey, 
Sunshine  was  life  to  me  and  gladness  ;  say 
Besides,  though  hasty  in  my  temper,  I 
Was  just  as  quick  to  put  my  anger  by. 
Then,  should  my  age  be  asked  you,  add  that  four      45 
And  forty  years  I  'd  flourished,  and  no  more, 
In  the  December  of  that  year,  which  fame 
Will  join  with  Lepidus' l  and  Lollius'  name. 

SIR  THEODORE  MARTIN. 

1  Lepidus  and  Lollius  were  the  consuls  in  B.  c.  21. 


TIBULLUS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

FOUR  books  of  Elegies  have  come  down  to  us  under  the 
name  of  Tibullus,  but  of  these  only  the  first  two  and  a  part 
of  the  fourth  are  the  work  of  that  poet.  Delia,  whose  real 
name  is  said  to  have  been  Plania,  and  Nemesis,  whose 
identity  has  not  been  determined,  are  the  central  figures  of 
the  first  and  second  book  respectively.  Most  of  the  poems 
in  the  fourth  book  written  by  him  relate  to  a  love  affair 
other  than  his  own,  i.  e.,  that  of  Sulpicia  and  Cerinthus. 

He  was  born  about  54  B.  o.,  probably  at  Pedum,  a  town 
in  Latium,  where  his  family,  which  belonged  to  the  eques- 
trian order,  had  an  estate,  apparently  of  considerable  extent. 
Some  part  of  this,  if  not  all,  escaped  the  confiscations  of  41 
B.  < '..  and  it  was  throughout  his  life  the  poet's  favorite  re- 
treat. In  Rome  he  was  on  terms  of  the  greatest  intimacy 
with  Valerius  Messala,  who  like  Maecenas  had  surrounded 
himself  with  a  group  of  literary  men.  Yet,  while  Messala's 
name  occurs  frequently  in  the  Elegies,  Tibullus'  position 
does  not  at  any  time  seem  to  have  been  one  of  dependence. 
Of  the  friendly  relations  which  existed  between  him  and 
Horace  we  know  from  the  latter's  works,  one  of  the  Odes 
(I.  33)  and  one  of  the  Epistles  (I.  4)  being  addressed  to 
him.  His  death,  which  took  place  in  19  B.  c.,  is  the  subject 
of  the  ninth  elegy  of  the  third  book  of  Ovid's  Amores. 

Although  of  somewhat  limited  range,  and  not  in  any  Wciy 
the  work  of  a  poet  of  the  first  rank,  Tibullus'  elegies  have 
an  undeniable  grace  and  charm  of  their  own.  Free  from 


THE  POET'S  IDEAL  303 

the  frigid  mythological  pedantries  that  disfigure  so  large  a 
part  of  elegiac  literature,  they  reflect,  probably  faithfully 
enough,  the  character  of  the  man,  a  conservative  of  conser- 
vatives, attached  to  old  rites  and  customs  simply  because 
they  were  old,  shrinking  from  the  strenuous  life  of  war  and 
politics,  gentle,  sensitive,  and,  where  women  were  concerned, 
of  even  more  than  elegiac  susceptibility,  a  dreamer  of 
dreams,  eternally  weaving  vague  fantasies  of  love  and  of 
the  peace  and  quiet  of  rural  seclusion. 


THE  POET'S  IDEAL 

(I.  i.) 

THE  glittering  ore  let  others  vainly  heap, 

O'er  fertile  vales  extend  th'  enclosing  mound ; 

With  dread   of   neighboring  foes  forsake  their 

sleep, 
And  start  aghast  at  every  trumpet's  sound. 

Me  humbler  scenes  delight,  and  calmer  days ;         5 

A  tranquil  life  fair  poverty  secure; 
Then   boast,  my   hearth,  a  small   but  cheerful 
blaze, 

And,  riches  grasp  who  will,  let  me  be  poor. 

Nor  yet  be  hope  a  stranger  to  my  door, 

But  o'e'r  my  roof,  bright  goddess,  still  preside  !  10 

With  many  a  bounteous  autumn  heap  my  floor, 
And  swell  my  vats  with  must,  a  purple  tide. 

My  tender  vines  I  '11  plant  with  early  care, 
And  choicest  apples  with  a  skilful  hand  ; 

Nor  blush,  a  rustic,  oft  to  guide  the  share,  w 

Or  goad  the  sturdy  ox  along  the  land. 


304  TIBULLUS 

Let  me,  a  simple  swain,  with  honest  pride, 

If  chance  a  lambkin  from  its  dam  should  roam, 

Or  sportful  kid,  the  little  wanderer  chide, 

And  in  my  bosom  bear  exulting  home.  20 

Here  Pales  l  I  bedew  with  milky  showers, 
Lustrations  yearly  for  my  shepherd  pay, 

Revere  2  each  antique  stone  bedeck'd  with  flowers 
That  bounds  the  field,  or  points  the  doubtful  way. 

My  grateful  fruits,  the  earliest  of  the  year,  25 

Before  the  rural  god  3  shall  duly  wait. 

From  Ceres'  gifts  I  '11  cull  each  browner  ear, 
And  hang  a  wheaten  wreath  before  her  gate. 

The  ruddy  god  4  shall  save  my  fruit  from  stealth, 
And  far  away  each  little  plunderer  scare  ;  so 

And  you,  the  guardians  once  of  ampler  wealth, 
My  household  gods,  shall  still  my  off'rings  share. 

My  numerous  herds  that  wanton'd  o'er  the  mead 
The  choicest  fatling  then  could  richly  yield ; 

Now  scarce  I  spare  a  little  lamb  to  bleed  » 

A  mighty  victim  for  my  scanty  field. 

And  yet  a  lamb  shall  bleed,  while,  ranged  around, 
The  village  youths  shall  stand  in  order  meet, 

With  rustic  hymns,  ye  gods,  your  praise  resound, 
And  future  crops  and  future  wines  entreat.        40 


1  The  tutelary  deity  of  shepherds  and  cattle. 

2  In  honor  of  Terminus,  the  god  of  boundaries. 
8  Silvanus,  who  presided  over  woods  and  fields. 

4  Statues  of  Priapus,  colored  red,  were  frequently  placed  in  gar- 
dens. 


THE  POET'S  IDEAL  305 

Then  come,  ye  powers,  nor  scorn  my  frugal  board, 
Nor  yet  the  gifts  clean  earthen  bowls  convey  ; 

With  these  the  first  of  men  the  gods  adored, 
And  form'd  their  simple  shape  of  ductile  clay. 

My  little  flock,  ye  wolves,  ye  robbers,  spare,          45 
Too  mean  a  plunder  to  deserve  your  toil ; 

For  wealthier  herds  the  nightly  theft  prepare ; 
There  seek  a  nobler  prey,  and  richer  spoil. 

For  treasured  wealth,  nor  stores  of  golden  wheat, 
The  hoard  of  frugal  sires,  I  vainly  call ;  so 

A  little  farm  be  mine,  a  cottage  neat, 

And  wonted  couch  where  balmy  sleep  may  fall. 

What  joy  to  hear  the  tempest  howl  in  vain, 
And  clasp  a  fearful  mistress  to  my  breast ; 

Or  lull'd  to  slumber  by  the  beating  rain,  55 

Secure  and  happy  sink  at  last  to  rest. 

These  joys  be  mine !  —  O  grant  me  only  these, 
And  give  to  others  bags  of  shining  gold, 

Whose  steely  heart  can  brave  the  boist'rous  seas, 
The  storm  wide-wasting,  or  the  stiff 'ning  cold,    so 

Content  with  little,  I  would  rather  stay 

Than  spend  long  months  amid  the  wat'ry  waste ; 

In  cooling  shades  elude  the  scorching  ray, 
Beside  some  fountain's  gliding  waters  placed. 

Oh  perish  rather  all  that 's  rich  and  rare,  w 

The  diamond  quarry,  and  the  golden  vein, 

Than  that  my  absence  cost  one  precious  tear, 
Or  give  some  gentle  maid  a  moment's  pain. 


306  TIBULLUS 

With  glittering  spoils,  Messala,1  gild  thy  dome, 
Be  thine  the  noble  task  to  lead  the  brave  ;          7» 

A  lovely  foe  me  captive  holds  at  home, 

Chain'd  to  her  scornful  gate,  a  watchful  slave. 

Inglorious  post !  —  and  yet  I  heed  not  fame  : 
Th'  applause  of  crowds  for  Delia  I  'd  resign  : 

To  live  with  thee  I  'd  bear  the  coward's  name,        75 
Nor  'midst  the  scorn  of  nations  once  repine. 

With  thee  to  live  I  'd  mock  the  ploughman's  toil, 
Or  on  some  lonely  mountain  tend  my  sheep ; 

At  night  I  'd  lay  me  on  the  flinty  soil, 

And  happy  'midst  thy  dear  embraces  sleep.        so 

What  drooping  lover  heeds  the  Tyrian  2  bed, 

While  the  long  night  is  pass'd  with  many  a  sigh  ; 

Nor  softest  down  with  richest  carpets  spread, 
Nor  whisp'ring  rills  can  close  the  weeping  eye. 

Of  threefold  iron  were  his  rugged  frame,  ss 

Who,  when  he  might  thy  yielding  heart  obtain, 

Could  yet  attend  the  calls  of  empty  fame, 
Or  follow  arms  in  quest  of  sordid  gain. 

Unenvied  let  him  drive  the  vanquished  host, 

Through  captive  lands  his  conquering  armies  lead ; 

Unenvied  wear  the  robe  with  gold  emboss'd,          91 
And  guide  with  solemn  state  his  foaming  steed. 

Oh  may  I  view  thee  with  life's  parting  ray, 
And  thy  dear  hand  with  dying  ardor  press  : 

1  His  patron,  who  was   in  Asia.     Tibnllus  had  been  induced   to 
accompany  him,  bnt  falling  ill  at  Corcyra  had  returned  to  Rome. 
3  Luxurious  as  those  of  the  people  of  Tyre. 


THE  POET'S  IDEAL  307 

Sure  thou  wilt  weep  —  and  on  thy  lover's  clay,      95 
With  breaking  heart,  print  many  a  tender  kiss ! 

Sure  thou  wilt  weep  —  and  woes  unutter'd  feel, 
When  on  the  pile  thou  seest  thy  lover  laid  ! 

For  well  I  know,  nor  flint,  nor  ruthless  steel 

Can  arm  the  breast  of  such  a  gentle  maid.         100 

From  the  sad  pomp,  what  youth,  what  pitying  fair, 
Returning  slow,  can  tender  tears  refrain  ? 

O  Delia,  spare  thy  cheeks,  thy  tresses  spare, 
Nor  give  my  ling'ring  shade  a  world  of  pain. 

But  now  while  smiling  hours  the  Fates  bestow,     105 
Let  love,  dear  maid,  our  gentle  hearts  unite ! 

Soon  death  will  come  and  strike  the  fatal  blow  ; 
Unseen  his  head,  and  veil'd  in  shades  of  night. 

Soon  creeping  age  will  bow  the  lover's  frame, 
And  tear  the  myrtle  chaplet  from  his  brow  :  110 

With  hoary  locks  ill  suits  the  youthful  flame, 
The  soft  persuasion,  or  the  ardent  vow. 

Now  the  fair  queen  of  gay  desire  is  ours, 
And  lends  our  follies  an  indulgent  smile : 

'T  is  lavish  youth's  t'  enjoy  the  frolic  hours,          us 
The  wanton  revel  and  the  midnight  broil. 

Your  chief,  my  friends  and  fellow-soldiers,  I 
To  these  light  wars  will  lead  you  boldly  on : 

Far  hence,  ye  trumpets,  sound,  and  banners  fly  ; 
To  those  who  covet  wounds  and  fame  begone.    120 

And  bear  them  fame  and  wounds  ;  and  riches  bear ; 
There*  are  that  fame  and  wounds  and  riches  prize. 


308  TIBULLUS 

For  me,  while  I  possess  one  plenteous  year, 
I  '11  wealth  and  meagre  want  alike  despise. 

JAMES  GRAINGER. 


A  RURAL  FESTIVAL1 
(II.  l.) 

ATTEND  !  and  favor !  as  our  sires  ordain, 
The  fields  we  lustrate,  and  the  rising  grain  : 
Come,  Bacchus,  and  thy  horns  with  grapes  surround  ; 
Come,  Ceres,  with  thy  wheaten  garland  crowned ; 
This  hallow'd  day  suspend  each  swain  his  toil,  5 

Rest  let  the  plough,  and  rest  th'  uncultured  soil : 
Unyoke  the  steer,  his  racks  heap  high  with  hay, 
And  deck  with  wreaths  his  honest  front  to-day. 
Be  all  your  thoughts  to  this  grand  work  applied  ! 
And  lay,  ye  thrifty  fair,  your  wool  aside !  10 

Hence  I  command  you  mortals  from  the  rite, 
Who  spent  in  amorous  blandishment  the  night, 
The  vernal  powers  in  chastity  delight. 
But  come,  ye  pure,  in  spotless  garbs  array'd ! 
For  you  the  solemn  festival  is  made ;  is 

Come !  follow  thrice  the  victim  round  the  lands  ! 
In  running  water  purify  your  hands  ! 
See  to  the  flames  the  willing  victim  come  ! 
Ye  swains  with  olive  crown'd,  be  dumb  !  be  dumb ! 
"  From  ills,  O  sylvan  gods,  our  limits  shield,  20 

To-day  we  purge  the  farmer  and  the  field  ; 
Oh  let  no  weeds  destroy  the  rising  grain ; 
By  no  fell  prowler  be  the  lambkin  slain ; 

1  The  central  theme  of  this  elegy  is  the  celebration  of  the  Ambar- 
valia,  which  took  place  annually  in  April.  Its  purpose  was  the 
purification  of  the  fields. 


A   RURAL  FESTIVAL  309 

So  shall  the  hind  dread  penury  no  more, 

But  gayly  smiling  o'er  his  plenteous  store,  25 

With  liberal  hand  shall  larger  billets  bring, 

Heap  the  broad  hearth,  and  hail  the  genial  spring. 

His  numerous  bond-slaves  all  in  goodly  rows, 

With  wicker  huts  your  altars  shall  enclose. 

That  done,  they  '11  cheerly  laugh,  and  dance,  and  play, 

And  praise  your  goodness  in  their  uncouth  lay."        si 

The  gods  assent !  see  !  see  I  those  entrails  show 
That  heaven  approves  of  what  is  done  below ! 
Now  quaff  Falernian,  let  my  Chian  wine, 
Poured  from  the  cask  in  massy  goblets  shine !  35 

Drink  deep,  my  friends ;  all,  all,  be  madly  gay, 
'T  were  irreligion  not  to  reel  to-day ! 
Health  to  Messala,  every  peasant  toast, 
And  not  a  letter  of  his  name  be  lost ! 

0  come,  my  friend,  whom  Gallic  triumphs a  grace, 
Thou  noblest  splendor  of  an  ancient  race ;  a. 
Thou  whom  the  arts  all  emulously  crown, 

Sword  of  the  state,  and  honor  of  the  gown ; 

My  theme  is  gratitude,  inspire  my  lays ! 

Oh  be  my  genius  !  while  I  strive  to  praise  45 

The  rural  deities,  the  rural  plain. 

The  use  of  foodful  corn  they  taught  the  swain. 

They  taught  man  first  the  social  hut  to  raise, 

And  thatch  it  o'er  with  turf,  or  leafy  sprays  ; 

They  first  to  tame  the  furious  bull  essay'd,  so 

And  on  rude  wheels  the  rolling  carriage  laid. 

Man  left  his  savage  ways ;  the  garden  glow'd 

Fruits  not  their  own  admiring  trees  bestow'd, 

1  Messala  was  given  a  triumph  in  27  B.  c.  for  his  victory  over  the 
Aquitanians  in  the  battle  of  Ataz. 


310  TIBULLUS 

While  through  the  thirsty  ground  meandering  run- 
nels flowed. 

There  bees  of  sweets  despoil  the  breathing  spring,     55 
And  to  their  cells  the  dulcet  plunder  bring. 
The  ploughman  first  to  soothe  the  toilsome  day 
Chanted  in  measur'd  feet  his  sylvan  lay : 
And,  seed-time  o'er,  he  first  in  blithesome  vein 
Piped  to  his  household  gods  the  hymning  strain.        eo 
Then  first  the  press  with  purple  wine  o'erran, 
And  cooling  water  made  it  fit  for  man. 
The  village  lad  first  made  a  wreath  of  flowers 
To  deck  in  spring  the  tutelary  powers  : 
Blest  be  the  country,  yearly  there  the  plain  K 

Yields,  when  the  dog-star  burns,  the  golden  grain  : 
Thence  too  thy  chorus,  Bacchus,  first  began, 
The  painted  clown  first  laid  the  tragic  plan. 
A  goat,  the  leader  of  the  shaggy  throng, 
The  village  sent  it,  recompensed  the  song.  TO 

There  too  the  sheep  his  woolly  treasure  wears  ; 
There  too  the  swain  his  woolly  treasure  shears ; 
This  to  the  thrifty  dame  long  work  supplies ; 
The  distaff  hence,  and  basket  took  their  rise. 
Hence  too  the  various  labors  of  the  loom,  75 

Thy  praise,  Minerva,1  and  Arachne's  2  doom ! 
'Mid  mountain  herds,  Love  first  drew  vital  air, 
Unknown  to  man,  and  man  had  nought  to  fear ; 
'Gainst  herds,  his  bow  th'  unskilful  archer  drew  ; 
Ah,  my  pierced  heart,  an  archer  now  too  true !  so 

Now  herds  may  roam  untouch'd,  't  is  Cupid's  joy, 
The  brave  to  vanquish,  and  to  fix  the  coy. 

1  Spinning,  weaving,  and  similar  feminine  activities  were  under  the 
patronage  of  Minerva. 

2  The  story  is  that  Arachne  was  changed  into  a  spider  through  the 
machinations  of  Athene,  who  was  jealous  of  her  skill  in  weaving. 


A   RURAL  FESTIVAL  311 

The  youth  whose  heart  the  soft  emotion  feels, 
Nor  sighs  for  wealth,  nor  waits  at  grandeur's  heels  ; 
Age  fired  by  Love  is  touch'd  by  shame  no  more,        85 
But  blabs  its  follies  at  the  fair  one's  door ! 
Led  by  soft  Love,  the  tender,  trembling  fair 
Steals  to  her  swain,  and  cheats  suspicion's  care, 
With  outstretched  arms  she  wins  her  darkling  way, 
And  tiptoe  listens  that  no  noise  betray !  90 

Ah,  wretched  those  on  whom  dread  Cupid  frowns ! 
How  happy  they  whose  mutual  choice  he  crowns  ! 
Will  Love  partake  the  banquet  of  the  day  ? 
O  come  —  but  throw  thy  burning  shafts  away. 

% 
Ye  swains,  begin  to  mighty  Love  the  song,  95 

Your  songs,  ye  swains,  to  mighty  Love  belong ! 
Breathe  out  aloud  your  wishes  for  my  fold, 
Your  own  soft  vows  in  whispers  may  be  told. 
But  hark !  loud  mirth  and  music  fire  the  crowd  — 
Ye  now  may  venture  to  request  aloud  !  100 

Pursue   your   sports;    night    mounts    her   curtain'd 

wain  ; 

The  dancing  stars  compose  her  filial  train ; 
Black  muffled  sleep  steals  on  with  silent  pace, 
And  dreams  flit  last,  imagination's  race ! 

JAMBS  GRAINGEK. 


PROPERTIUS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

OF  the  life  of  Propertius,  unquestionably  the  greatest 
of  Roman  elegiac  poets,  very  little  is  known  in  addition  to 
the  few  facts  that  he  himself  relates.  He  was  an  Umbrian, 
and  of  the  various  places  which  have  claimed  him,  Assisi 
probably  has  the  strongest  case.  The  year  50  B.  c.  may  be 
given  as  an  approximate  date  for  his  birth.  He  was  a 
member  of  the  Maecenas  circle  in  Rome,  but  of  all  his  lit- 
erary contemporaries  Ovid  alone  mentions  him.  In  none 
of  his  poems  do  we  find  a  reference  to  any  event  later  than 
16  B.  c.,  and  with  some  show  of  reason  his  death  is  gener- 
ally placed  about  that  time. 

Five  books  of  Elegies  bear  witness  to  his  unusual  powers. 
The  first,  commonly  known  as  the  Cynthia,  from  the  name 
of  the  woman  who  constitutes  its  principal  theme,  was 
published  when  he  was  only  twenty.  It  shows  extraordi- 
nary precocity  on  the  technical  as  well  as  on  the  emotional 
side.  In  the  second  and  third  books  the  erotic  element  is 
still  prominent,  but  Cynthia  is  no  longer  the  poet's  only 
thought.  In  the  fourth  and  fifth  books  there  is  greater 
variety.  National  themes  are  introduced,  and  some  poems 
dealing  with  the  origins  of  Roman  customs  and  institutions 
mark  the  first  attempts  by  a  Roman  poet  in  the  field  of  the 
aetiological  elegy. 

It  is  a  somewhat  disagreeable  personality  that  Proper- 
tius' poems  reveal.  He  seems  to  have  been  strangely  self' 
centred,  gloomy,  and  morbid.  No  matter  what  his  theme 


BEAUTY  UNADORNED  313 

may  be,  it  is  his  own  relation  to  it  that  interests  him  most, 
and  to  himself  he  almost  invariably  returns.  If  his  suffer- 
ings were  great,  the  contemplation  of  them  afforded  him  a 
pleasure  that  was,  in  part  at  least,  a  recompense.  His  hap- 
piness would  seem  to  have  reached  its  highest  point  in 
brooding  over  his  own  death  and  burial. 

Unlike  that  of  his  contemporary  Tibullus  his  work  shows 
strong  Alexandrian  influence.  His  models  were  Callimachus 
and  Philetas,  and  it  is  to  his  imitation  of  them  that  the 
undue  preponderance  of  mythological  lore  and  the  tendency 
to  recondite  and  abstruse  allusion  are  largely  due.  To  the 
same  source  must  be  ascribed  the  excessive  elaboration  of 
detail  and  superabundance  of  ornament  that  characterize 
some  of  his  elegies.  Yet  in  spite  of  these  faults  we  find 
everywhere  traces  of  a  genius  of  rare  brilliancy :  imagina- 
tion of  great  range  and  vividness,  deftness  in  word  and 
phrase,  and  a  fine  ear  for  rhythmical  effects. 


BEAUTY  UNADORNED 
(I.,  2.) 

DEAR  girl,1  what  boots  it  thus  to  dress  thy  hair, 
Or  flaunt  in  silken  garment  rich  and  rare, 
To  reek  of  perfume  from  a  foreign  mart, 
And  pass  thyself  for  other  than  thou  art  — 
Thus  Nature's  gift  of  beauty  to  deface  s 

And  rob  thy  own  fair  form  of  half  its  grace  ? 
Trust  me,  no  skill  can  greater  charms  impart ; 
Love  is  a  naked  boy  and  scorns  all  art. 
Bears  not  the  sod  unbidden  blossoms  rare  ? 
The  untrained  ivy,  is  it  not  most  fair  ?  10 

Greenest  the  shrub  on  rocks  untended  grows, 
Brightest  the  rill  in  unhewn  channel  flows. 
1  Cynthia. 


314  PROPERTIUS 

The  beach  is  with  unpolished  pebbles  gay, 

And  birds  untutored  trill  the  sweetest  lay. 

Not  thus  the  damsels  of  the  golden  age  is 

Were  wont  the  hearts  of  heroes  to  engage : 

Their  loveliness  was  to  no  jewels  due, 

But  to  such  tints  as  once  Apelles  *  drew. 

From  vain  coquettish  arts  they  all  were  free, 

Content  to  charm  with  simple  modesty.  20 

By  thee  despite  to  me  will  ne'er  be  done ; 

The  woman  pleases  well  who  pleases  one. 

GOLDWIN  SMITH. 


TO  MAECENAS8 

(n.,  i.) 

You  ask,  why  thus  my  loves  I  still  rehearse, 
Whence  the  soft  strain  and  ever-melting  verse  ? 
From  Cynthia  all  that  in  my  numbers  shines  ; 
She  is  my  genius,  she  inspires  the  lines  ; 
No  Phoebus  else,  no  other  Muse  I  know,  5 

She  tunes  my  easy  rhyme,  and  gives  the  lay  to  flow. 
If  the  loose  curls  around  her  forehead  play, 
Or  lawless,  o'er  their  ivory  margin  stray  : 
If  the  thin  Coan  web  3  her  shape  reveal, 
And  half  disclose  those  limbs  it  should  conceal ;        10 
Of  those  loose  curls,  that  ivory  front  I  write ; 
Of  the  dear  web  whole  volumes  I  indite : 
Or  if  to  music  she  the  lyre  awake, 
That  the  soft  subject  of  my  song  I  make, 
And  sing  with  what  a  careless  grace  she  flings  is 

Her  artful  hand  across  the  sounding  strings. 

1  A  Greek  painter  of  the  Alexandrian  period. 

2  The  publication  of  the  first  book  of  hia  Elegies  had  won  for  the 
poet  the  favor  of  Maecenas.  8  Of  silk  from  the  island  of  Coos. 


TO  MAECENAS  315 

If  sinking  into  sleep  she  seem  to  close 

Her  languid  lids,  I  favor  her  repose 

With  lulling  notes,  and  thousand  beauties  see 

That  slumber  brings  to  aid  my  poetry.  20 

When,  less  averse,  and  yielding  to  desires, 

She  half  accepts,  and  half  rejects,  my  fires, 

While  to  retain  the  envious  lawn  she  tries, 

And  struggles  to  elude  my  longing  eyes, 

The  fruitful  Muse  from  that  auspicious  night  25 

Dates  the  long  Iliad  of  the  amorous  fight. 

In  brief,  whate'er  she  do,  or  say,  or  look, 

'T  is  ample  matter  for  a  lover's  book  ; 

And  many  a  copious  narrative  you  '11  see 

Big  with  the  important  nothing's  history.  so 

Yet  would  the  tyrant  love  permit  me  raise 

My  feeble  voice,  to  sound  the  victor's  praise, 

To  paint  the  hero's  toil,  the  ranks  of  war, 

The  laurell'd  triumph  and  the  sculptured  car ; 

No  giant  race,  no  tumult  of  the  skies,  35 

No  mountain-structures  *  in  my  verse  should  rise, 

Nor  tale  of  Thebes,  nor  Ilium  there  should  be, 

Nor  how  the  Persian  trod  th'  indignant  sea ; 2 

Not  Marius'  Cimbrian  3  wreaths  would  I  relate, 

Nor  lofty  Carthage  struggling  with  her  fate.  40 

Here  should  Augustus  great  in  arms  appear, 

And  thou,  Maecenas,  be  my  second  care  ; 

Here  Mutina  4  from  flames  and  famine  free, 

1  In  their  attempt  to  storm  heaven,  the  giants,  according  to  the 
old  story,  piled  mountain  upon  mountain. 

2  On  the  occasion  of  the  Persian  invasion  of  Greece  in  480  B.  c., 
Xerxes'  host  crossed  the  Hellespont  by  means  of  two  bridges  of  boats. 

8  Marius  won  a  decisive  victory  over  the  invading  forces  of  the 
Cimbri,  near  Verona,  in  101  B.  0. 

*  A  town  in  Cisalpine  Gaul,  where  the  consuls  Ilirtius  and  Pansa 
were  killed  in  battle  in  43  B.  C. 


316  PROPERTIUS 

And  there  th'  ensanguined  wave  of  Sicily,1 

And  sceptred  Alexandria's  2  captive  shore,  46 

And  sad  Philippi,3  red  with  Roman  gore : 

Then,  while  the  vaulted  skies  loud  los  *  rend, 

In  golden  chains  should  loaded  inonarchs  bend, 

And  hoary  Nile  with  pensive  aspect  seem 

To  mourn  the  glories  of  his  sevenfold  stream,  so 

While  prows,5  that  late  in  fierce  encounter  met, 

Move  through  the  Sacred  Way  and  vainly  threat, 

Thee  too  the  Muse  should  consecrate  to  fame, 

And  with  her  garlands  weave  thy  ever-faithful  name. 

But  nor  Callimachus'  6  enervate  strain  55 

May  tell  of  Jove,  and  Phlegra's 7  blasted  plain ; 
Nor  I  with  unaccustom'd  vigor  trace 
Back  to  its  source  divine  the  Julian  race. 
Sailors  to  tell  of  winds  and  seas  delight, 
The  shepherd  of  his  flocks,  the  soldier  of  the  fight,    eo 
A  milder  warfare  I  in  verse  display ; 
Each  in  his  proper  art  should  waste  the  day : 
Nor  thou  my  gentle  calling  disapprove, 
To  die  is  glorious  in  the  bonds  of  love. 

Happy  the  youth,  and  not  unknown  to  fame,          «, 
Wrhose  heart  has  never  felt  a  second  flame. 
Oh,  might  that  envied  happiness  be  mine ! 

1  Sextos  Pompeius  had  been  defeated  in  a  number  of  naval  battles 
near  Sicily. 

2  Alexandria  was  taken  in  B.  c.  30. 

8  In  Macedonia,  the  scene  of  the  victory  of  Antony  and  Octavian 
over  Brutus  and  Cassins  in  42  B.  0. 
*  "  lo  1  "  was  a  cry  of  triumph. 

6  When  a  naval  victory  was  celebrated,  the  beaks  of  ships  were 
sometimes  borne  in  the  triumphal  procession. 

8  The  famous  Alexandrian  poet  who  flourished  about  200  B.  c. 

7  Perhaps  the  volcanic  plain  along  the  coast  of  Campania  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Cnmae.     It  was  said  to  have  been  the  battleground 
of  the  gods  and  the  giants. 


TO  MAECENAS  317 

To  Cynthia  all  ray  wishes  I  confine  ; 

Or  if,  alas !  it  be  my  fate  to  try 

Another  love,  the  quicker  let  me  die  :  70 

But  she,  the  mistress  of  my  faithful  breast, 

Has  oft  the  charms  of  constancy  confessed, 

Condemns  her  fickle  sex's  fond  mistake, 

And  hates  the  tale  of  Troy  for  Helen's  sake. 

Me  from  myself  the  soft  enchantress  stole  ;  75 

Ah  !  let  her  ever  my  desires  control, 

Or  if  I  fall  the  victim  of  her  scorn, 

From  her  loved  door  may  my  pale  corse  be  borne. 

The  power  of  herbs  can  other  harms  remove, 

And  find  a  cure  for  every  ill  but  love.  so 

The  Malian's  *  hurt  Machaon  could  repair, 

Heal  the  slow  chief,  and  send  again  to  war ; 

To  Chiron  2  Phoenix  3  owed  his  long-lost  sight, 

And  Phoebus'  son  4  recall'd  Androgeos  to  the  light. 

Here  arts  are  vain,  e'en  magic  here  must  fail,  K 

The  powerful  mixture  and  the  midnight  spell ; 

The  hand  that  can  my  captive  heart  release, 

And  to  this  bosom  give  its  wonted  peace, 

May  the  long  thirst  of  Tantalus  6  allay, 

Or  drive  th'  infernal  vulture  from  his  prey.6  90 

1  Philoctetea  of  Malis,  a  district  in  the  south  of  Thessaly.     Bitten 
by  a  snake  on  the  way  to  Troy,  he  had  been  abandoned  at  Lemuos, 
but  in  the  tenth  year  of  the  war  he  was  healed  by  Machaon,  son  of 
Aesculapius,  and  joined  the  Greeks  once  more  at  Troy.     It  was  he 
who  killed  Paris. 

2  The  centaur  who  was  entrusted  with  the  education  of  Achilles. 
8  The  friend  of  Achilles. 

4  Aesculapius,  who  brought  back  to  life  Androgeos,  son  of  Minos 
of  Crete. 

6  Afflicted  with  perpetnal  thirst  in  the  lower  world  for  revealing 
the  secrets  of  Jove. 

6  Prometheus,  who  for  stealing  fire  from  heaven  was  fastened  to 
one  of  the  cliffs  of  Mt.  Caucasus,  where  a  vulture  preyed  upon  his 
liver. 


318  PROPERTIUS 

For  ills  unseen  what  remedy  is  found  ? 

Or  who  can  probe  the  undiscovered  wound  ? 

The  bed  avails  not,  nor  the  leech's  care, 

Nor  changing  skies  can  hurt,  nor  sultry  air. 

'T  is  hard  th'  elusive  symptoms  to  explore  ;  9s 

To-day  the  lover  walks,  to-morrow  is  no  more ; 

A  train  of  mourning  friends  attend  his  pall, 

And  wonder  at  the  sudden  funeral. 

When  then  my  fates  that  breath  they  gave  shall 

claim, 

And  the  short  marble  but  preserve  a  name,  100 

A  little  verse  my  all  that  shall  remain, 
Thy  passing  courser's  slacken 'd  speed  restrain, 
(Thou  envied  honor  of  thy  poet's  days, 
Of  all  our  youth  th'  ambition  and  the  praise !) 
Then  to  my  quiet  urn  awhile  draw  near,  105 

And  say,  while  o'er  the  place  you  drop  a  tear, 
"  Love  and  the  fair  were  of  his  life  the  pride ; 
He  lived,  while  she  was  kind ;  and  when  she  frown'd, 

he  died." 

THOMAS  GBAY. 


A  CHANGE  OF  VIEW 

(HI.,  6,  19  seq.) 

LONG  as  of  youth  the  joyous  hours  remain, 

Me  may  Castalia's l  sweet  recess  detain, 

Fast  by  th'  umbrageous  vale  lull'd  to  repose, 

Where  Aganippe  2  warbles  as  it  flows  ; 

Or  roused  by  sprightly  sounds  from  out  the  trance,    s 

I  'd  in  the  ring  knit  hands,  and  join  the  Muses'  dance. 

1  A  spring  on  Mt.  Parnassus  sacred  to  Apollo  and  the  Muses. 
*  A  spring  on  Mt.  Helicon  in  Boeotia. 


A    CHANGE  OF  VIEW  319 

Give  me  to  send  the  laughing  bowl  around, 

My  soul  in  Bacchus'  pleasing  fetters  bound  ; 

Let  on  this  head  unfading  flowers  reside, 

There  bloom  the  vernal  rose's  earliest  pride ;  10 

And  when,  our  flames  commission 'd  to  destroy, 

Age  step  'twixt  love  and  me,  and  intercept  the  joy ; 

When  my  changed  head  these  locks  no  more  shall 

know, 

And  all  its  jetty  honors  turn  to  snow ; 
Then  let  me  rightly  tell  of  nature's  ways ;  is 

To  Providence,  to  Him  my  thoughts  I  'd  raise, 
Who  taught  this  vast  machine  its  steadfast  laws, 
That  first,  eternal,  universal  cause  ; 
Search  to  what  region  yonder  star  retires, 
That  monthly  waning  hides  her  paly  fires,  20 

And  whence,  anew  revived,  with  silver  light 
Relumes  her  crescent  orb  to  cheer  the  dreary  night : 
How  rising  winds  the  face  of  ocean  sweep, 
Where  lie  th'  eternal  fountains  of  the  deep, 
And  whence  the  cloudy  magazines  maintain  25 

Their  wintry  war,  or  pour  th'  autumnal  rain ; 
How  flames,  perhaps,  with  dire  confusion  hurl'd, 
Shall  sink  this  beauteous  fabric  of  the  world ; 
What  colors  paint  the  vivid  arch l  of  Jove ; 
What  wondrous  force  the  solid  earth  can  move,         so 
When  Pindus'  2  self  approaching  ruin  dreads, 
Shakes  all  his  pines,  and  bows  his  hundred  heads ; 
Why  does  yon  orb,  so  exquisitely  bright, 
Obscure  his  radiance  in  a  short-lived  night ; 
Whence  the  seven  Sisters'  3  congregated  fires,  35 

And  what  Bootes' 4  lazy  wagon  tires ; 
How  the  rude  surge  its  sandy  bounds  control ; 

1  The  rainbow.  2  A  mountain  in  Thessaly. 

8  The  Pleiades.  *  The  Little  Bear. 


320  PROPERTIUS 

Who  measured  out  the   year  and  bade  the  seasons 

roll; 

If  realms  beneath  those  fabled  torments  know, 
Pangs  without  respite,  fires  that  ever  glow,  « 

Earth's  monster  brood  l  stretch'd  on  their  iron  bed, 
The  hissing  terrors  round  Alecto's  2  head, 
Scarce  to  nine  acres  Tityus'  bulk  confined, 
The  triple  dog  that  scares  the  shadowy  kind, 
All  angry  heaven  inflicts,  or  hell  can  feel,  45 

The  pendent  rock,  Ixion's  whirling  wheel, 
Famine  at  feasts,  and  thirst  amid  the  stream ; 
Or  are  our  fears  th'  enthusiast's  empty  dream, 
And  all  the  scenes,  that  hurt  the  grave's  repose, 
But  pictured  horror  and  poetic  woes.  so 

These  soft  inglorious  joys  my  hours  engage ; 
Be  love  my  youth's  pursuit,  and  science  crown  my 

age. 

You,  whose  young  bosoms  feel  a  nobler  flame, 
Redeem  what  Crassus  3  lost,  and  vindicate  his  name. 

THOMAS  GRAY. 


A   ROMAN  MATRON  TO  HER  HUSBAND4 

(V,  11.) 

WEEP  no  more,  Paullus,  where  thy  wife  is  laid  : 
At  the  dark  gate  thy  prayer  will  beat  in  vain ; 

1  The  giants,  sons  of  Earth,  who  rebelled  against  Jove. 

2  One  of  the  Furies. 

8  Crassus  had  been  defeated  by  the  Parthians  in  a  disastrous  battle 
in  55  B.  c. 

4  One  of  the  most  famous  of  Propertius's  elegies.  Cornelia  is  repre- 
sented as  addressing  her  husband  from  the  tomb.  She  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Pnblins  Cornelius  Scipio  by  Scribonia,  who  was  afterwards  the 
wife  of  Augustus.  Her  husband  was  Paullus  Aemilins  Lepidus,  con- 
sul in  B.  c.  34. 


A  ROMAN  MATRON  TO  HER  HUSBAND      321 

Once  let  the  nether  realm  receive  the  shade, 
The  adamantine  bar  turns  not  again. 

Prayer  may  move  heaven,  but,  the  sad  river  passed,  5 
The  grave  relentless  gives  not  back  its  dead : 

Such  sentence  spake  the  funeral  trumpet's  blast, 
As  sank  in  funeral  flames  thy  loved  one's  head. 

No  honors  that  on  Paullus'  consort  wait, 

No  pride  of  ancestry  or  storied  bust,  10 

Could  save  Cornelia  from  her  cruel  fate  : 

Now  one  small  hand  may  hold  her  grandeur's  dust. 

Shades  of  the  Dead  and  sluggish  fens  that  gloom 
Around  Hell's  murky  shores  my  steps  to  bind, 

Before  my  hour,  but  pure  in  soul,  I  come,  is 

Then  let  the  Judge  of  all  the  Dead  be  kind. 

Call  the  dread  court :  let  silence  reign  in  Hell ; 

Set  for  an  hour  the  damned  from  torture  free, 
And  still  the  Guardian  Hound.     If  aught  I  tell 

But  truth,  fall  Hell's  worst  penalty  on  me.  20 

Is  honor  to  a  glorious  lineage  due  ? 

What  my  sires  were,  Af ric  and  Spain  proclaim ; 
Nor  poor  the  blood  I  from  my  mother  drew, 

For  well  may  Libo's  match  with  Scipio's  name. 

And  when,  my  virgin  vesture  laid  aside,  25 

They  placed  the  matron's  wreath  upon  my  head, 

Thine,  Paullus,  I  became,  till  death  thy  bride : 
"  Wedded  to  one  "  shall  on  my  tomb  be  read. 

By  glory's  shrine  I  swear,  great  Scipio's  tomb, 

Where  sculptured  Afric  sits  a  captive  maid,  so 


322  PROPERTIUS 

By  him  l  that  led  the  Macedonian  home 
In  chains  and  all  his  pride  in  ruin  laid, 

Never  for  me  was  bent  the  censor's  law ; 

Never  by  me  wrong  to  your  honor  done ; 
Your  scutcheon  to  Cornelia  owes  no  flaw,  35 

To  her  your  roll  of  worthy  names  owes  one. 

Nor  failed  my  virtue  ;  faithful  still  I  stood, 
And  stainless  from  the  bridal  to  the  bier. 

No  law  I  needed  save  my  noble  blood ; 

The  basely  born  are  innocent  through  fear.  40 

Judge  strictly  as  ye  will,  within  the  bound 

Of  Death's  wide  realm  not  one,  matron  or  maid, 

Howe'er  renowned  in  story,  will  be  found 
To  shun  communion  with  Cornelia's  shade. 

Not  she,  the  wife  of  purity  unstained,  45 

At  touch  of  whose  pure  hand  Cybele  moved,2 

When  hands  less  pure  in  vain  the  cable  strained, 
Not  she,3  the  virgin  of  the  gods  beloved, 

For  whom,  when  Vesta's  sacred  fire  was  lost, 

It  from  her  votary's  robe  rekindled  sprang.  so 

And  thou,  dear  mother,  did  thy  child  e'er  cost 
Thee,  save  by  her  untimely  fate,  a  pang? 

Short  was  my  span,  yet  children  three  I  bore, 
And  in  their  arms  I  drew  my  latest  breath ; 

1  Aerailius  Paullus,  who  conquered  Perseus  in  168  B.  c.     His  son 
became  a  Scipio  by  adoption. 

2  The  ship  that  was  bearing  the   image  of  Cybele  to  Rome  ran 
aground  in  the  Tiber,  and  it  was  only  when  the  vestal  Claudia  laid 
her  hand  upon  the  cable  that  it  could  be  moved. 

*  The  vestal  Aemilia. 


A  ROMAN  MATRON  TO  HER  HUSBAND     323 

In  these  I  live  although  my  life  is  o'er ;  55 

Their  dear  embraces  took  the  sting  from  death. 

Twice  did  my  brother  fill  the  curule  chair,1 
There  sat  he  when  I  parted.  Daughter,  thou 

Wast  born  a  censor's  child ;  be  it  thy  care 

Like  me,  by  wedded  troth,  his  rule  to  show.  eo 

Now  I  bequeath  our  children  to  thy  heart, 

Husband,  though  I  am  dust,  that  care  is  mine ; 

Father  and  mother  too  henceforth  thou  art ; 

Around  one  neck  now  all  those  arms  must  twine. 

Kiss  for  thyself  and  then  for  her  that 's  gone ;  es 

Thy  love  alone  the  whole  dear  burden  bears ; 

If  e'er  for  me  thou  weepest,  weep  alone, 

And  see,  to  cheat  their  lips,  thou  driest  thy 
tears. 

Be  it  enough  by  night  thy  grief  to  pour, 

By  night  to  commune  with  Cornelia's  shade  ;          TO 
If  to  my  likeness  in  thy  secret  bower 

Thou  speakest,  speak  as  though  I  answer  made. 

Should  time  bring  on  another  wedding  day, 
And  set  a  stepdame  in  your  mother's  place, 

My  children,  let  your  looks  no  gloom  betray  ;  75 

Kind  ways  and  loving  words  will  win  her  grace. 

Nor  speak  too  much  of  me  ;  the  jealous  ear 
Of  the  new  wife  perchance  offence  may  take  ; 

But  ah !  if  my  poor  ashes  are  so  dear 

That  he  will  live  un  wedded  for  my  sake,  so 

1  Its  use  was  confined  to  the  chief  state  officials. 


324  PROPERTIUS 

Learn,  children,  to  forestall  your  sire's  decline, 
And  let  no  lonesome  thought  come  near  his  life ; 

Add  to  your  years  what  Fate  has  reft  from  mine ; 
Blest  in  my  children  let  him  bless  his  wife. 

Though  brief  my  day,  I  have  not  lived  in  vain ;         w 
Mourning  for  child  of  mine  I  never  wore ; 

When  from  my  home  went  forth  my  funeral  train, 
Not  one  was  missing  there  of  all  I  bore. 

My  cause  is  pleaded.     Now,  ye  mourners  rise 

And  witness  bear  till  earth  my  meed  decree  ;          90 

If  worth  may  claim  its  guerdon  in  the  skies, 
My  glorious  ancestors  may  welcome  me. 

GOLDWIN  SMITH. 


OVID 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

AT  the  end  of  the  fourth  book  of  the  Tristia,  Ovid,  fol- 
lowing a  custom  of  Roman  elegiac  poets,  has  given  a  sketch 
of  his  life.  He  was  born  in  43  B.  c.,  at  Sulmo,  a  town  of 
the  Pelignians,  about  seventy  miles  east  of  Rome.  His 
father,  who  belonged  to  the  equestrian  order,  destined  him 
for  a  legal  and  political  career,  and  with  this  end  in  view 
sent  him  to  Rome  and  afterwards  to  Athens  to  study  under 
some  of  the  distinguished  rhetoricians  of  the  day.  His  own 
inclinations,  however,  were  towards  literature  rather  than 
law,  and  when  he  was  about  twenty-four  he  abandoned  his 
legal  pursuits  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  poetry.  The 
Amores  made  him  famous  as  a  writer  of  erotic  elegies,  and 
this  success  was  followed  up  by  the  publication  of  the 
Heroides,  a  series  of  imaginary  letters  in  elegiac  verse  from 
deserted  women  to  their  erring  lovers,  and  the  pseudo- 
didactic  poem  on  the  Art  of  Love.  Later  came  the  Meta- 
morphoses, a  collection  of  mythological  stories  in  fifteen 
books,  written  in  hexameters,  and  the  Fasti,  a  poetical  cal- 
endar of  the  first  six  months  of  the  year.  He  was  at  the 
height  of  prosperity  when  in  8  A.  D.  he  was  struck  down  by 
a  decree  of  Augustus  which  banished  him  to  Tomi,  a  deso- 
late place  on  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea.  The  cause  of  his 
banishment  has  never  been  accurately  determined,  but  the 
conjecture  that  he  had  been  in  some  way  implicated  in  the 
intrigue  of  Julia,  the  notorious  granddaughter  of  Augustus, 
with  Decimus  Silanus,  has  a  fair  degree  of  probability. 
The  sentence  was  never  remitted,  and  he  died  at  Tomi  in 


326  OVID 

18  A.  D.     To  the  period  of  his  exile  belong  the  Epistolae 
ex  Ponto,  the  Tristia,  and  other  miscellaneous  poems. 

While  Propertius  puzzles  us  by  his  curious  self-absorp- 
tion, Ovid  amazes  us  by  his  cleverness,  his  quickness,  his 
versatility,  and  his  astounding  facility  in  metrical  composi- 
tion. The  Metamorphoses  constitute  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable tours  de  force  in  literary  history.  They  show, 
successfully  combined  in  one  whole,  a  bewildering  array  of 
myths  that  have  as  their  only  common  theme  some  kind  of 
change  of  form.  Fable  is  linked  to  fable,  myth  to  myth, 
with  a  nicety  of  juncture  that  never  fails,  a  variety  of 
device  that  seems  to  be  inexhaustible.  In  the  stories  them- 
selves we  find  all  the  qualities  of  the  literary  artist  whose 
natural  gifts  have  been  supplemented  by  training  and  prac- 
tice: verve  in  narration,  picturesqueness  in  description, 
skill  in  the  elaboration  of  simile  or  metaphor,  and  the  faculty 
of  writing  in  smoothly  flowing  verse  that  knows  no  pause. 
Swift,  vivid,  brilliant,  never  wearying  us  except  by  the 
infinity  of  his  surprises,  coercing  our  admiration  of  his  story- 
teller's art,  he  carries  us  along  through  his  strange  world  of 
ever  changing  forms  that  begin  with  Deucalion  and  end 
with  Julius  Caesar.  In  the  fasti,  with  their  explanations 
of  the  festivals  of  the  different  months,  we  see  the  same 
characteristics,  but  added  to  them  something  more  serious, 
an  aetiological  spirit  that  makes  them  the  most  substantial 
of  all  the  poet's  works.  His  erotic  elegies  and  his  Art  of 
Love,  written  to  amuse  himself  and  others  as  flippant  as 
himself,  show  him  to  have  been,  in  some  moods  at  least, 
frivolous  to  the  last  degree  of  frivolity,  careless  of  himself 
and  of  the  society  in  which  he  moved,  such  a  man  as  could 
only  have  been  produced  by  an  age  in  which  the  old  repub- 
lican virtue  and  simplicity  had  given  way  to  luxury  and 
even  immorality. 


DIDO  TO  AENEAS  327 

DIDO  TO  AENEAS1 

(Heroides,  VII.) 

So,  on  Maeander's  2  banks,  when  death  is  nigh, 

The  mournful  swan  sings  her  own  elegy. 

Not  that  I  hope  (for  oh,  that  hope  were  vain !) 

By  words  your  lost  affection  to  regain ; 

But,  having  lost  whate'er  was  worth  my  care,  s 

Why  should  I  fear  to  lose  a  dying  prayer  ? 

'T  is  then  resolved  poor  Dido  must  be  left, 

Of  life,  of  honor,  and  of  love  bereft ! 

While  you,  with  loosened  sails,  and  vows,  prepare 

To  seek  a  land  that  flies  the  searcher's  care ;  10 

Nor  can  my  rising  towers  your  flight  restrain, 

Nor  my  new  empire,  offered  you  in  vain. 

Built  walls  you  shun,  unbuilt  you  seek ;  that  land 

Is  yet  to  conquer,  but  you  this  command. 

Suppose  you  landed  where  your  wish  designed,  is 

Think  what  reception  foreigners  would  find, 

What  people  is  so  void  of  common  sense, 

To  vote  succession  from  a  native  prince  ? 

Yet  there  new  sceptres  and  new  loves  you  seek, 

New  vows  to  plight,  and  plighted  vows  to  break.      -9 

When  will  your  towers  the  height  of  Carthage  know  ? 

Or  when  your  eyes  discern  such  crowds  below  ? 

1  The  visit  to  Carthage  was  one  of  the  most  important  episodes 
in  the  long  voyage  of  Aeneas  and  his  Trojans  from  Troy  to  Italy. 
Driven  by  a  storm  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  they  had  been  hospitably 
entertained  by  Queen  Dido.     When,   after  some  time,  Aeneas  an- 
nounced his  intention  to  depart,  the  qneen,  loving  him,  urged  him  to 
remain  and  share  her  kingdom  with  her.     He,  however,  refused,  and 
was  making  his  final  preparations  to  leave  the  country,  when  she  sent 
him  this  letter  as  a  hist  appeal. 

2  A  river  in  Asia  Minor. 


328  OVID 

If  such  a  town  and  subjects  you  could  see, 
Still  would  you  want  a  wife  who  loved  like  me. 
For  oh  !  I  burn,  like  fires  with  incense  bright ;  25 

Not  holy  tapers  flame  with  purer  light. 
Aeneas  is  my  thoughts'  perpetual  theme, 
Their  daily  longing,  and  their  nightly  dream. 
Yet  he  's  ungrateful  and  obdurate  still ; 
Fool  that  I  am  to  place  my  heart  so  ill !  so 

Myself  I  cannot  to  myself  restore  ; 
Still  I  complain,  and  still  I  love  him  more. 
Have  pity,  Cupid,  on  my  bleeding  heart, 
And  pierce  thy  brother's 1  with  an  equal  dart. 
I  rave,  nor  canst  thou  Venus'  offspring  be,  35 

Love's  mother  could  not  bear  a  son  like  thee. 
From  hardened  oak,  or  from  a  rock's  cold  womb, 
At  least  thou  art  from  some  fierce  tigress  come ; 
Or  on  rough  seas,  from  their  foundation  torn, 
Got  by  the  winds,  and  in  a  tempest  born :  40 

Like  that,  which  now  thy  trembling  sailors  fear ; 
Like  that,  whose  rage  should  still  detain  thee  here. 
Behold  how  high  the  foamy  billows  ride  ! 
The  winds  and  waves  are  on  the  juster  side. 
To  winter  weather,  and  a  stormy  sea,  45 

I  '11  owe  what  rather  I  would  owe  to  thee. 
Death  thou  deserv'st  from  heaven's  avenging  laws ; 
But  I  'm  unwilling  to  become  the  cause. 
To  shun  my  love,  if  thou  wilt  seek  thy  fate, 
'T  is  a  dear  purchase,  and  a  costly  hate.  so 

Stay  but  a  little,  till  the  tempest  cease, 
And  the  loud  winds  are  lulled  into  a  peace. 
May  all  thy  rage,  like  theirs,  inconstant  prove  I 
And  so  it  will  if  there  be  power  in  love. 
Know'st  thou  not  yet  what  dangers  ships  sustain  ?     55 
1  Aeneas  was  a  son  of  Venus  and  so  is  called  a  brother  of  Cupid. 


DIDO  TO  AENEAS  329 

So  often  wrecked,  how  darest  thou  tempt  the  main  ? 

Which  were  it  smooth,  were  every  wave  asleep, 

Ten  thousand  forms  of  death  are  in  the  deep. 

In  that  abyss  the  gods  their  vengeance  store, 

For  broken  vows  of  those  who  falsely  swore ;  eo 

There  winged  storms  on  sea-born  Venus  wait, 

To  vindicate  the  justice  of  her  state. 

Thus  I  to  thee  the  means  of  safety  show ; 

And,  lost  myself,  would  still  preserve  my  foe. 

False  as  thou  art,  I  not  thy  death  design  ;  K 

O  rather  live,  to  be  the  cause  of  mine ! 

Should  some  avenging  storm  thy  vessel  tear, 

(But  heaven  forbid  my  words  should  omen  bear !) 

Then  in  thy  face  thy  perjured  vows  would  fly, 

And  my  wronged  ghost  be  present  to  thy  eye ;  TO 

With  threatening  looks  think  thou  behold'st  me  stare, 

Gasping  my  mouth,  and  clotted  all  my  hair. 

Then,  should  forked  lightning  and  red  thunder  fall, 

What  couldst  thou  say,  but,  "  I  deserved  them  all  "  ? 

Lest  this  should  happen,  make  not  haste  away ;          75 

To  shun  the  danger  will  be  worth  thy  stay. 

Have  pity  on  thy  son,1  if  not  on  me ; 

My  death  alone  is  guilt  enough  for  thee. 

What  has  his  youth,  what  have  thy  gods  deserved, 

To  sink  in  seas,  who  were  from  fires  preserved  ?        so 

But  neither  gods  nor  parent  didst  thou  bear ; 

Smooth  stories  all,  to  please  a  woman's  ear, 

False  as  the  tale  of  thy  romantic  life. 

Nor  yet  am  I  thy  first-deluded  wife ; 

Left  to  pursuing  foes  Creiisa  2  stayed,  ss 

By  thee,  base  man,  forsaken  and  betrayed. 

1  Ascanius,  who  accompanied  his  father  from  Troy. 

2  Aeneas's  Trojan  wife.     Dido  accuses  him  of  having  left  her  he- 
hind  intentionally  when  he  fled  from  Troy. 


330  OVID 

This,  when  thou  told'st  me,  struck  iny  tender  heart, 

That  such  requital  followed  such  desert. 

Nor  doubt  I  but  the  Gods,  for  crimes  like  these, 

Seven  winters  *  kept  thee  wandering  on  the  seas,       90 

Thy  starved  companions,  cast  ashore,  I  fed, 

Thyself  admitted  to  my  crown  and  bed. 

To  harbor  strangers,  succor  the  distressed 

Was  kind  enough  ;  but,  oh,  too  kind  the  rest ! 

Curst  be  the  cave  which  first  my  ruin  brought,          95 

Where,  from  the  storm,  we  common  shelter  sought ! 

A  dreadful  howling  echoed  round  the  place ; 

The  mountain  nymphs,  thought  I,  my  nuptial  grace. 

I  thought  so  then,  but  now  too  late  I  know 

The  furies  yelled  my  funerals  from  below.  100 

O  chastity  and  violated  fame, 

Exact  your  dues  to  my  dead  husband's  2  name ! 

By  death  redeem  my  reputation  lost, 

And  to  his  arms  restore  my  guilty  ghost  1 

Close  by  my  palace,  in  a  gloomy  grove,  105 

Is  raised  a  chapel  to  my  murdered  love  ; 

There,  wreathed  with  boughs  and  wool,  his  statue  stands, 

The  pious  monument  of  artful  hands. 

Last  night,  methought,  he  called  me  from  the  dome, 

And  thrice,  with  hollow  voice,  cried,  "  Dido,  come  !  " 

She  comes ;  thy  wife  thy  lawful  summons  hears,       m 

But  comes  more  slowly,  clogged  with  conscious  fears. 

Forgive  the  wrong  I  offered  to  thy  bed  ; 

Strong  were  his  charms,  who  my  weak  faith  misled. 

His  goddess  mother,  and  his  aged  sire3  iw 

Borne  on  his  back,  did  to  my  fall  conspire. 

1  Seven  years  had  passed  since  the  fall  of  Troy. 

2  Sychaeus,  after  •whose  murder  by  her  brother  Pygmalion,  king  of 
Tyre,  Dido  had  fled  to  Africa  and  founded  Carthage. 

8  Aeneas  had  told  her  how  he  saved  his  father  Anchiscs  on  the 
night  of  the  sack  of  Troy. 


DIDO  TO  AENEAS  331 

Oh !  such  he  was,  and  is,  that,  were  he  true, 

Without  a  blush  I  might  his  love  pursue ; 

But  cruel  stars  my  birthday  did  attend, 

And,  as  my  fortune  opened,  it  must  end.  120 

My  plighted  lord  was  at  the  altar  slain, 

Whose  wealth  was  made  my  bloody  brother's  gain  ; 

Friendless,  and  followed  by  the  murderer's  hate, 

To  foreign  countries  I  removed  my  fate  ; 

And  here,  a  suppliant,  from  the  natives'  hands          125 

I  bought  the  ground  on  which  my  city  stands, 

With  all  the  coast  that  stretches  to  the  sea, 

E'en  to  the  friendly  port  that  sheltered  thee  ; 

Then  raised  these  walls,  which  mount  into  the  air, 

At  once  my  neighbors'  wonder,  and  their  fear.          iso 

For  now  they  arm  ;  and  round  me  leagues  are  made, 

My  scarce  established  empire  to  invade. 

To  man  my  new-built  walls  I  must  prepare, 

A  helpless  woman,  and  unskilled  in  war. 

Yet  thousand  rivals  to  my  love  pretend,  IK 

And  for  my  person  would  my  crown  defend  ; 

Whose  jarring  notes  in  one  complaint  agree, 

That  each  unjustly  is  disdained  for  thee. 

To  proud  larbas 1  give  me  up  a  prey, 

For  that  must  follow,  if  thou  goest  away ;  MO 

Or  to  my  husband's  murderer  leave  my  life, 

That  to  the  husband  he  may  add  the  wife. 

Go  then,  since  no  complaints  can  move  thy  mind ; 

Go,  perjured  man,  but  leave  thy  gods 2  behind. 

Touch  not  those  gods,  by  whom  thou  art  forsworn,  145 

Who  will  in  impious  hands  no  more  be  borne  ; 

Thy  sacrilegious  worship  they  disdain, 

And  rather  would  the  Grecian  fires  sustain. 

1  A  local  prince,  one  of  Dido's  suitors. 

2  Aeneas  had  borne  the  images  of  his  gods  from  Troy. 


332  OVID 


Some  god,  thou  sayest,  thy  voyage  does  command ; 

Would  the  same  god  had  barred  thee  from  my  land  ! 

The  same,  I  doubt  not,  thy  departure  steers,  155 

Who  kept  thee  out  at  sea  so  many  years ; 

While  thy  long  labors  were  a  price  so  great, 

As  thou,  to  purchase  Troy,  wouldst  not  repeat. 

But  Tiber 1  now  thou  seek'st,  to  be  at  best, 

When  there  arrived,  a  poor  precarious  guest.  ieo 

Yet  it  deludes  thy  search  ;  perhaps  it  will 

To  thy  old  age  lie  undiscovered  still. 

A  ready  crown  and  wealth  in  dower  I  bring, 

And,  without  conquering,  here  thou  art  a  king. 

Here  thou  to  Carthage  may'st  transfer  thy  Troy  ;     iw 

Here  young  Ascanius  may  his  arms  employ  ; 

And,  while  we  live  secure  in  soft  repose, 

Bring  many  laurels  home  from  conquered  foes. 

By  Cupid's  arrows,  I  adjure  thee  stay ! 
By  all  the  gods,  companions  of  thy  way !  no 

So  may  the  Trojans,  who  are  yet  alive, 
Live  still,  and  with  no  future  fortune  strive ; 
So  may  thy  youthful  son  old  age  attain, 
And  thy  dead  father's  bones  in  peace  remain  ; 
As  thou  hast  pity  on  unhappy  me,  175 

Who  knew  no  crime,  but  too  much  love  of  thee. 
I  am  not  born  from  fierce  Achilles'  line, 
Nor  did  my  parents  against  Troy  combine. 
To  be  thy  wife  if  I  unworthy  prove, 
By  some  inferior  name  admit  my  love.  iso 

To  be  secured  of  still  possessing  thee, 
What  would  I  do,  and  what  would  I  not  be ! 

Our  Libyan  coasts  their  certain  seasons  know, 
When,  free  from  tempests,  passengers  may  go ; 
1  Latium  was  the  Trojans'  promised  land. 


DIDO  TO  AENEAS  333 

But  now  with  northern  blasts  the  billows  roar,          IK 

And  drive  the  floating  sea-weed  to  the  shore. 

Leave  to  iny  care  the  time  to  sail  away  ; 

When  safe,  I  will  not  suffer  thee  to  stay. 

Thy  weary  men  would  be  with  ease  content ; 

Their  sails  are  tattered,  and  their  masts  are  spent.   190 

If  by  no  merit  I  thy  mind  can  move, 

What  thou  deniest  my  merit,  give  my  love. 

Stay,  till  I  learn  my  loss  to  undergo, 

And  give  me  time  to  struggle  with  my  woe : 

If  not,  know  this,  I  will  not  suffer  long ;  195 

My  life 's  too  loathsome,  and  my  love  too  strong. 

Death  holds  my  pen,  and  dictates  what  I  say, 

While  cross  my  lap  the  Trojan  sword  I  lay. 

My  tears  flow  down  ;  the  sharp  edge  cuts  their  flood, 

And  drinks  my  sorrows,  that  must  drink  my  blood.  200 

How  well  thy  gift 1  does  with  my  fate  agree ! 

My  funeral  pomp  is  cheaply  made  by  thee. 

To  no  new  wounds  my  bosom  I  display  ; 

The  sword  but  enters  where  love  made  the  way. 

But  thou,  dear  sister,2  and  yet  dearer  friend,  205 

Shalt  my  cold  ashes  to  their  urn  attend. 

Sychaeus'  wife  let  not  the  marble  boast ; 

I  lost  that  title,  when  my  fame  I  lost. 

This  short  inscription  only  let  it  bear ; 

"  Unhappy  Dido  lies  in  quiet  here.  210 

The  cause  of  death,  and  sword  by  which  she  died, 

Aeneas  gave  ;  the  rest  her  arm  supplied." 

ALEXANDER  POPE. 

1  The  sword.     According  to  Virgil's  story  (Aeneid,  IV.),  Dido  had 
given  it  as  a  present  to  Aeneas,  and  he  had  accidentally  left  it  be- 
hind. 

2  Anna,  who  had  been  her  confidante  throughout  the  affair  with 
Aeneas. 


334  OVID 

PHAETHON 

(Metamorphoses  II.,  1-366.) 

SUBLIME  on  lofty  columns,  bright  with  gold 
And  fiery  carbuncle,  its  roof  inlaid 
With  ivory,  rose  the  Palace  of  the  Sun, 
Approached  by  folding  gates  with  silver  sheen 
Radiant ;  material  priceless,  —  yet  less  prized  5 

For  its  own  worth  than  what  the  cunning  hand 
Of  Mulciber 1  thereon  had  wrought,  —  the  globe 
Of  Earth,  —  the  Seas  that  wash  it  round,  —  the  Skies 
That  overhang  it.     'Mid  the  waters  played 
Their  Gods  caerulean.     Triton  2  with  his  horn  10 

Was  there,  and  Proteus  3  of  the  shifting  shape, 
And  old  Aegeon,4  curbing  with  firm  hand 
The  monsters  of  the  deep.     Her  Nereids  there 
Round  Doris  5  sported,  seeming,  some  to  swim, 
Some  on  the  rocks  their  tresses  green  to  dry,  15 

Some  dolphin-borne  to  ride ;  nor  all  in  face 
The  same,  nor  different ;  —  so  should  sisters  be. 
Earth  showed  her  men,  and  towns,  and  woods,  and 

beasts, 

And  streams,  and  Nymphs,  and  rural  Deities  : 
And  over  all  the  mimic  Heaven  was  bright  20 

With  the  twelve  Zodiac  signs,  on  either  valve 
Of  the  great  portal  figured,  —  six  on  each. 

1  Vulcan  in  his  function  as  a  smith. 

2  A  son  of  Neptune,  generally  represented  as  bloving  on  a  twisted 
sea-shell  to  raise  or  calm  the  waves. 

8  The  keeper  of  Neptune's  flocks  (the  seals).  He  had  the  power 
of  changing  his  shape  at  will. 

*  Here  represented  as  a  god  of  the  sea. 

6  A  daughter  of  ocean,  wife  of  Nereus,  and  mother  of  the  Nereides, 
nymphs  of  the  sea. 


PHAETHON  335 

And  now  the  child 1  of  Clymene  the  steep 
Ascending,  passed  the  threshold  of  his  Sire 
Yet  unassured,  and  toward  the  Godhead  bent  25 

His  steps,  yet  far  off  stood,  nor  nearer  bore 
The  dazzling  radiance.     Clad  in  flowing  robe 
Of  purple,  on  a  throne  of  state,  that  shone 
Crusted  with  beryl,  Phoebus  sate.     To  right 
And  left  were  ranged   the  Days,  and  Months,  and 

Years,  so 

And  Ages,  and  the  Hours,  with  each  its  space 
Allotted  equal.     Spring,  with  flowery  crown 
Round  his  young  brows,  —  and  Summer,  lightly  clad, 
With  wreath  of  odorous  spices,  —  Autumn,  stained 
With  juice  of  trodden  wine-press,  —  and  the  head     35 
Of  Winter,  white  with  frost  and  age,  —  were  there. 
Himself  sits  midmost :  —  nor  escapes  his  eye 
All-seeing  long  the  youth,  with  wondering  awe 
Such   marvels  viewing :  —  and   "  What   brings   thee 

here, 

My  offspring,  —  for  I  recognize  thee  such,  —  <o 

What   wouldst   thou   of   me  ? "  asks   the   God.     To 

whom 

The  youth  —  "  O  common  light  of  all  the  world, 
Phoebus,  my  Sire,  if  by  such  name  I  dare 
Address  thee,  nor  hath  Clymene  her  shame 
With  falsehood  sought  to  veil,  —  give  me,  I  pray,     « 
Some  pledge  whereby  henceforth  I  may  be  known 
Thy  son  indeed,  and  all  this  doubt  be  cleared !  " 
He  said  —  and  straight  the  Godhead  laid  aside 
The  dazzling  glories  of  his  brow,  and  bade 
Approach,  and  folded  in  his  arms  his  child,  so 

And  —  "  O  well  worthy  to  be  owned  my  Son," 

1  Phaethon,  whom  Clymene,  daughter  of  Tethys  and  wife  of  Me- 
rops,  had  borne  to  Phoebus  Apollo. 


336  OVID 

He  said,  "  thy  mother's  tale  was  truth.     To  still 
All  question,  ask  what  boon  thou  wilt :  —  ere  asked 
I  grant  it  thee.     By  Styx,  dread  oath  of  Gods, 
Which  never  yet  these  rays  illumed,  I  swear  !  "         55 
Scarce  uttered  was  the  promise,  when  the  youth 
Demands  his  father's  car,  and,  for  one  day, 
The  rein  and  guidance  of  its  winged  steeds. 
Then  rued  the  God  his  oath,  and  thrice  and  once 
Shaking  his  radiant  head,  "  Alas  !  thy  speech  eo 

Proves  mine  too  rash  !  "  he  cried,  —  "  would  yet  my 

boon 

I  could  deny,  for  thou  the  one  sole  thing 
Hast  asked  I  would  not  grant  thee.     O  my  son, 
Let  me  dissuade,  if  not  refuse.     Thy  wish 
Is  fraught  with  peril !     'T  is  no  little  thing  « 

Thou  seek'st,  my  Phaethon  !  a  trust  for  heads 
And  years  like  thine  unfitting.     Mortal,  thou 
Immortal  function  dar'st  affect,  and  more 
Than  all  Heaven's  Gods  may  venture.     Whatsoe'er 
His  confidence,  none  save  myself  can  guide  70 

That  fiery  chariot,  task  for  Jove  himself, 
Whose  terrible  right  hand  the  thunder  wields, 
Too  hard,  —  and    where    is    greater   strength   than 

Jove's? 

Steep  is  the  track  at  starting,  even  for  steeds 
Fresh  with  the  morn  no  easy  climb :  —  then  lies         75 
High  across  central  Heaven,  whence  I,  —  even  I,  — 
On  Earth  and  Sea  not  without  fear  look  down : 
Then  sheer  again  descends,  —  sure  hand  and  strong 
Demanding,  where  old  Tethys' 1  self,  whose  waves 
Beneath  receive  me,  dreads  some  day  to  see  so 

My  headlong  fall.     Add,  that  the  heavens,  around 
In  ceaseless  revolution  borne,  attract 

1  The  wife  of  Ocean. 


PHAETHON  337 

And  with  them  drag  in  dizzy  whirl  the  stars. 
Adverse  to  these  my  course.     All  else  they  sweep 
With  them,  —  save  me.     Against  the  rapid  rush       K 
Of  the  World  I  hold  my  way.     But  thou  —  suppose 
The  chariot  thine  —  couldst  thou  unswerving  keep 
The  path  'twixt  either  Pole,  or  stem  undazed 
The  whirl  of  Heaven?     Dost  dream   that  journey 

winds 

By  groves,  and  towns,  and  fanes  of  Gods  with  gifts  90 
Resplendent  ?     Through  what  perils,  'mid  what  forms 
Of  monsters  lies  it !     Shouldst  thou  keep  the  track 
Perchance,  nor  deviate  aught,  still  must  thou  tempt 
The  horns  of  hostile  Taurus,  and  the  shafts 
Of  that  Thessalian  archer,  Leo's  jaws  as 

Terrific,  Scorpio's  cruel  arms  around 
Groping  for  prey,  and  Cancer's  claw  which  grasps 
With  backward  clutch  its  spoil !     Nor  light  the  task 
That  team  to  curb,  impetuous,  breathing  flame 
From  mouth  and  nostril !    Scarce,  when  warmed,  they 

bear  100 

My  hand,  and  toss  with  scornful  neck  the  rein ! 
Bethink  thee,  O  my  son,  nor  let  thy  sire 
With  fatal  gift  undo  thee  !    While  thou  mayst, 
Amend  thy  suit.     Thou  wouldst  by  certain  proof 
Assure  thy  parentage.     My  grief  supplies  105 

The  pledge :  —  my  father's  fears  the  father  prove. 
Look  on  me !     Would  thy  glance  my  inmost  heart 
Could  penetrate,  and  read  the  sire  within ! 
Oh !  ransack  all  the  treasures  of  the  world, 
Earth,  sea,  and  sky,  —  choose  what  thou  wilt  of  all   no 
Their  gifts,  nor  dread  denial !     This  alone 
Forbear  to  seek,  —  false  honor,  —  certain  bane ! 
The  boon  thou  seekest  is  thy  doom,  my  son ! 
Nay,  clasp  not  thus  my  neck  —  ah !  rash  and  blind  ! 


838  OVID 

Whate'er  thy  wish,  doubt  not,  't  is  thine,  for  Styx    115 
Hath  heard  my  oath,  —  but  oh,  more  wisely  ask !  " 

He  ended,  but  the  youth  his  warning  scorned, 
And  urged  his  boon,  and  burned  to  guide  the  car, 
Whereto  at  length  the  sire,  with  what  delay 
He  could,  unwilling  led  him.     Vulcan  wrought         120 
The  chariot ;  —  gold  its  axle  was,  its  pole 
Golden,  its  wheels  gold-tired,  with  silver  spokes : 
And  from  its  seat  unnumbered  chrysolites 
Flashed  back  reflected  light.     The  daring  boy 
Admiring  scans  the  marvel.     And  now  wide  125 

Aurora,  blushing-born,  her  purple  gate, 
Wakeful,  had  flung,  and  all  her  roseate  halls 
Disclosed ;  and  Lucifer  the  gathered  stars 
Drove  homeward,  last  himself  to  leave  the  skies. 
And  Phoebus,  as  he  saw  the  rosy  flush  iso 

Suffuse  the  world,  and  Luna's  horns  in  light 
Superior  vanish,  bade  the  rapid  Hours 
Yoke  to  the  car  the  steeds.     The  Hours  obey 
Instant,  and  from  their  stalls  the  coursers  lead, 
With  juice  ambrosial  nourished,  and  attach  135 

The  harness  resonant.     With  drugs  of  power 
The  Sire  anoints  his  offspring's  brow,  to  bear 
Unharmed  the  flames,  and  round  his  tresses  binds 
The  radiant  crown,  and,  with  deep  sighs,  too  well 
Prescient  of  coming  sorrow,  speaks :  "  O  son !  —      wo 
If  thus  much  of  thy  father's  warning  thou 
Canst  follow,  —  spare  the  lash,  and  tightly  hold 
The  rein.     My  steeds  spontaneous  fly :  thy  task 
Will  be  to  check  them.     Nor  directly  urge 
Through  the  five  zones  thy  way.     A  path  oblique     145 
Winds  curving  through  the  central  three.     Content 
With  these,  and  shunning  either  Pole,  the  track 
Observe,  where  erst  my  wheels  have  marked  the  road, 


PHAETHON  339 

Dispensing  equal  warmth  to  Earth  and  Heaven. 
Nor  be  thy  course  too  low  depressed,  nor  urged         wo 
Too  high  aloft,  lest  Heaven  or  Earth  in  flames 
Be  wrapped,  but  safe  the  midway  course  pursue. 
Nor  toward  the  Serpent  on  thy  right,  nor  near 
The  Altar  on  thy  left,  thy  wheel  incline : 
At  equal  distance  pass  them.     What  remains  155 

I  trust  to  Fortune :  —  may  she  aid,  and  more 
Consult  thy  weal  than  thou  dost !     While  I  speak 
The  night  hath  touched  the  borders  of  the  west, 
And  darkness  flies  Aurora's  face ;  nor  more 
May  I  delay ;  —  the  World  demands  me  !     Grasp    ieo 
The  reins,  or  —  if  thy  breast  may  still  be  moved  — 
My  counsel  take,  and  not  my  car,  while  yet 
Thou  mayst,  and  from  this  steadfast  seat  —  more  safe 
Than  that  thy  ignorance  covets  —  see  thy  Sire 
Fulfil  his  proper  task,  and  light  the  World !  "  ies 

But  the  hot  boy  already  in  the  car 
Sate  mounted,  joyous  in  his  grasp  to  feel 
The  trusted  reins,  and  to  his  Sire  profuse 
Poured  his   unwelcome   thanks.    The   steeds,   mean- 
while — 

Eous,  Pyroeis,  Aethon,  and  the  fourth  no 

Phlegon  —  with  fiery  neighings  fill  the  air, 
And  plunge,  impatient  of  restraint.     And  now 
Tethys,  unprescient  of  her  grandson's  doom, 
Unbars  her  gates,  and  gives  them  way  :  the  World 
Immense  is  theirs  to  traverse !     Forth  they  dash       175 
And  cleave  th'  opposing  clouds,  and  with  fleet  wings 
Outstrip  the  blast  of  Eurus,1  like  themselves 
Eastern  of  birth.     Nor  failed  their  sense  at  once 
The  lighter  load  to  feel,  and  car  which  lacked 
Its  wonted  weight.    And,  as  some  bark  which  starts   wo 
1  The  east  wind. 


340  OVID 

Too  sparely  ballasted,  across  the  deep 
Unsteady  drives,  the  chariot  now,  unpressed 
By  its  due  burden,  reels  and  rocks,  and  seems 
As  empty  to  those  coursers,  quick  to  snatch 
Their  liberty.     Wild  dashing  on,  they  quit  iss 

The  beaten  track,  and  all  control  disown. 
Cold  tremors  seize  the  youth  :  —  no  more  he  knows 
Which  rein  to  try,  or  where  his  road,  though  vain 
'T  were  now,  when  all  command  is  lost,  to  know. 
Now  first  those  heavenly  Oxen  burned  with  heat       wo 
Unfelt  before,  and  vainly  longed  to  plunge 
Beneath  the  wave  denied  them ;  —  and  the  Snake 
Nighest  the  icy  Pole,  till  now  with  cold 
Inert,  and  terrible  to  none,  conceived 
Strange  fury  from  the  rays.     Even  thou,  they  say,    195 
Alarmed  didst  fly,  Bootes,  slow  albeit 
Of  movement  by  thy  tardy  wain  delayed. 
But  when  the  hapless  Phaethon  looked  down 
From  Heaven  to  Earth,  so  wide,  so  far  below, 
Together  knocked  his  knees,  and  blanched  his  cheeks, 
And  darkness,  born  of  too  much  light,  his  eyes          201 
Confounded.     Would  his  hand  had  ne'er  essayed 
Those  steeds  to  rule !    Ah,  would  he  ne'er  had  won 
With  fatal  prayer  this  proof  of  heavenly  birth, 
Content  with  Merops  for  a  sire !     As  drives  m 

Some  bark,  when  Boreas  rages,  and  the  helm 
The  o'ermastered  pilot  quits,  nor  hope  has  more, 
Save  in  his  prayers  and  Gods  —  so  headlong  now 
The  youth  is  borne.    Behind  him  spreads  the  track 
Of  Heaven  already  passed  —  before  him  lies  210 

A  wider  yet !     Both  measuring,  now  with  look 
Strained  to  that  west  he  ne'er  is  doomed  to  reach  — 
Now  eastward  —  paralyzed  in  blank  despair 
He  stands  —  the  loose  reins  idle  in  his  hands 


PHAETHON  341 

Which  neither  drop  nor  manage  them  —  nor  knows 
By  name  to  call  and  pacify  his  steeds.  216 

A  place  there  is  in  Heaven  where  Scorpio  curves 
In  double  bow  his  arms,  and,  with  spread  tail 
And  claws  on  either  side  outstretched,  usurps 
Space  ample  for  two  signs.     When  him  the  Boy       220 
Beheld,  black  venom  sweltering,  and  with  sting 
Exasperate  threatening  wounds  and  death,  —  all  heart 
Failed  him,  and  icy  terror  numbed  his  hands, 
And  from  them  shook  the  reins  ;  no  sooner  felt 
Loose  floating  on  those  coursers'  backs,  than  wild    22$ 
They  swerve,  and  masterless  through  unknown  realms 
Of  air,  as  impulse  urges,  bound,  and  dash 
Against  fixed  orbs  of  stars,  and  whirl  the  car 
Through  space  by  track  unmarked,  and  now  aloft 
They  soar,  now  downward  headlong  plunge,  too  close 
To  Earth.     Her  brother's  steeds  beneath  her  own    231 
Much  marvelling  Luna  sees.     The  scorching  clouds 
Begin  to  smoke.     Each  loftier  prominence 
Of  Earth  takes  fire,  and  flames,  and  splits,  and  gapes 
In  fissures,  parched  and  moistureless.     The  meads   235 
Turn  ashy  white,  nor  leaf  nor  trunk  of  tree 
Escapes,  and  drying  harvests  court  the  blaze. 
Light  mischief  this,  when  cities  whole  with  all 
Their  walls  in  ruin  tumble,  and  some  heap 
Of  ashes  only  tells  that  underneath  240 

A  nation  lies  consumed !     Each  mount  with  all 
Its  forests  flames  !     Flames  Athos'  height  and  thine, 
Cilician  Taurus  :  Tmolus,  Oeta,  burn, 
And  Ida,  erst  for  many  fountains  famed, 
Dry  now,  —  and  virgin-haunted  Helicon,  —  us 

And  Haemus,  by  that  name  of  after  time, 
Aeagrius,  yet  unknown.     With  doubled  blaze 
Flames  Aetna,  —  and  Parnassus'  cloven  crest,  — 


342  OVID 

Eryx,  and  Cynthus,  Othrys,  Rhodope 
Now  first  of  snow  dismantled,  Dindyma,  BO 

Mimas,  and  Mycale,  and  thou,  for  rite 
Of  Bacchus  famed,  Cithaerou.     Little  now 
May  Scythia's  snows  avail  her  !     Caucasus 
Flares  with  the  rest :  —  Ossa  and  Pindus  burn, 
And,  huger  yet,  Olympus,  and  the  Alps  255 

Heaven-towering,  and  the  cloud-capped  Apennine! 
And  now,  where'er  he  turns  his  glance,  the  Youth 
Sees  but  a  world  on  fire  ;  nor  heat  so  great 
Sustains,  and,  panting,  draws  each  breath  of  air 
Scorching  as  furnace-blast,  and  feels  the  car  260 

Beneath  him  glow,  —  with  ashes  and  thick  shower 
Of  fiery  fragments  choked,  and  blind  with  cloud 
Of  stifling  smoke  :  —  nor  where  he  was,  or  is, 
Or  goes,  can  longer  tell,  but  at  the  will  264 

Of  those  mad  steeds  whirls  giddy  through  the  skies ! 

'T  was  then,  they  say,  the  Aethiop  l  —  all  his  blood 
Drawn  outward  to  the  surface  —  first  assumed 
That  darker  hue  he  wears :  —  then  Libya  first, 
Of  all  her  moisture  drained,  an  arid  waste 
Became.     Then  with  dishevelled  locks  the  Nymphs  270 
For  their  lost  founts  went  wailing.     Sudden  ceased 
Boeotian  Dirce :  —  Amymone  failed 
Her  Argives :  —  and  in  Ephyra  thy  wave, 
Pirene,  gushed  no  more.     Nor  rivers,  proud 
Of  widest  bank  and  broadest  flood,  escaped  275 

The  ruin.     Tanai's  in  mid-channel  smoked, 
And  aged  Peneus,  and  thy  Mysian  stream, 
Cai'cus,  and  Ismenus  swift,  and  thine, 
Arcadian  Erymanthus,  —  Xanthus,  doomed 
Later  again  to  burn,  —  thy  yellow  wave,  no 

Lycormas,  and  Maeander,  pleased  to  stray 
1  Used  generally  of  the  inhabitants  of  Africa. 


PHAETHON  343 

In  sportive  windings  numberless.     Burned  too 

Mygdonian  Melas,  and  Eurotas  born 

Of  Spartan  Taenarus,  —  Euphrates  far 

By  Babylon,  Orontes,  and  the  flood  as 

Thermodon  downward  hurries :  —  Ganges  warmed, 

And  Phasis,  and  Danubius.     All  thy  waves, 

Alpheus,  boiled  and  bubbled,  and  thy  banks, 

Spercheius,  glowed.     Tagus  his  golden  freight 

Rolled  melted  to  the  sea.     The  swans  which  haunt  290 

Cayster's  banks,  and  all  Maeonian  founts 

Make  famous  with  their  music,  in  mid-stream 

Sickened  with  heat.     To  the  world's  utmost  end 

Fled  Nilus,  burying  deep  in  earth  his  head, 

Ne'er  since  to  light  restored  :  —  his  mouth  remains,  — 

Rivers,  no  more,  —  mere  valleys,  dry  with  dust.        2% 

Nor  other  lot  befell  that  Thracian  pair, 

Hebrus  and  Strymon  :  — nor  the  western  floods 

Of  Padus,  Rhenus,  Rhodanus  ;  nor  thine, 

Old  Tiber,  by  the  Fates  in  after  years  soo 

Ordained  to  bear  the  Masters  of  the  world. 

Earth's  surface  yawns  throughout,  and  piercing  light 

Illumes  all  Tartarus,  and  shakes  with  fear 

Hell's  Monarch  and  his  Consort.     Ocean  shrinks, 

And  leaves  a  waste  of  sand  what  late  was  sea ;          sos 

And  rocks  jut  out,  late  covered  by  the  waves, 

Like  islands  to  the  scattered  Cyclades 

New  added.     Fishes  to  the  bottom  dive, 

Nor  dare  the  dolphins  more  through  air  to  try 

Brief  flight,  and  seals  uncouth  expiring  float  MO 

Supine  upon  the  deep.     In  lowest  cave 

Old  Nereus,  and  his  Doris,  and  their  train 

Of  daughters,  trembling  hide.     Thrice  Neptune  rears 

His  angry  brow  above  the  wave,  and  thrice 

Withdraws,  by  heat  o'ermastered.     At  the  last        sis 


344  OVID 

Old  Tellus,1  ocean-girdled,  —  all  her  founts 
Or  dried  or  in  her  bosom  shrunk,  —  upraised 
Her  parching  brow,  and,  shading  from  her  eyes 
With  outspread  hand  the  glare,  and  by  her  fears 
Shaken  to  lesser  bulk  and  lower  place  320 

Than  erst  she  held,  with  gasping  accents  spake. 
"  O  thou,  of  Gods  the  Sovereign !  2  if  thy  will 
Be  thus,  and  I  this  fate  have  merited, 
Why  linger  yet  thy  lightnings  ?     If  by  fire 
I  perish,  let  it  be  by  thine  !     My  doom  325 

Will  come  the  easier  from  thy  hand.     The  prayer 
Thou  seest  how  scarce  my  parching  lips  have  strength 
To   urge.     My   brows   are   scorched !    my   eyes   are 

seared 

And  blind  with  ashes  !     Oh  !  is  this  the  meed 
Of  all  my  faithful  duty  ?     But  for  this  330 

Have  I  endured,  the  long  year  through,  the  tooth 
Of  plough  and  gnawing  harrow  ?     But  for  this 
Borne  for  the  herd  its  pasture,  for  the  race 
Of  men  my  harvests,  for  the  Gods  themselves  334 

Their  incense  ?     Say  my  doom  is  just ;  —  but  what, 
What   hath   my   Brother3   done?     Why  thus   from 

Heaven 

More  distant  shrink  the  Waters  to  his  rule 
Assigned  ?  —  But,  if  nor  he  nor  I  have  power 
To  move  thee,  let  thy  proper  Heaven  awake 
Thy  pity !     Look  around  thee  !    Either  pole  340 

Already  smokes  —  let  these  but  burst  in  flame, 
And  all  thy  palace  topples  !     Atlas'  self, 
Half  stifled,  scarce  the  glowing  globe  sustains ! 
If  Sea,  and  Land,  and  Sky  must  perish  thus, 
Chaos  again  confounds  us !     Rescue  yet  345 

What  rests,  and  in  thy  mercy  help  the  World !  " 

1  The  goddess  of  the  earth.  2  Jupiter.  8  Neptune. 


PHAETHON  345 

She  ceased,  nor  longer  bore  the  heat,  nor  more 
Could  utter,  and  within  herself  withdrew 
Low  in  her  deepest  cavern,  neighboring  close 
On  Hades.     Then  the  Sire  Omnipotent  350 

Calling  all  Gods  to  witness,  —  and,  most,  him 
Who  lent  that  fatal  car,  —  how  ruin  threats 
The  world  unless  he  aid  it,  to  the  top 
And  citadel  of  Heaven  betakes  him,  whence 
He  darkens  earth  with  storm-cloud,  and  bids  roar     355 
The  thunder,  and  the  brandished  lightning  flings : 
Though  now  —  so  Fate  would  have  it  —  was  at  hand 
Nor  cloud,  nor  shower,  to  darken  or  to  drown. 
But  loud  he  thunders,  and,  with  right  hand  high 
Uplifted,  on  the  hapless  charioteer  m 

Lets  fly  the  bolts  of  fire,  and  hurls  him  down 
Headlong  at  once  from  car  and  life,  and  quells 
The  fires  with  fire  more  potent.     Terror  strikes 
The  steeds,  and  backward  bounding  from  their  necks 
The  yoke  they  dash,  and  spurn  the  broken  reins ;  — 
And  here  the  curb,  and  here  the  axle  lies,  see 

And  separate  here  the  pole,  and  here  the  spokes 
Of  shattered  wheels,  and  here  what  fragments  else 
Strewed  piecemeal  of  the  car.     Down,  headlong  down 
Falls  Phaethon,  his  streaming  locks  ablaze  370 

With  flame,  and  shoots  through  air,  as  seems  athwart 
The  cloudless  sky  some  midnight  star  to  fall, 
Yet  leaves  no  vacant  space.     Eridanus, 
Far  from  the  land  that  gave  him  birth,  receives 
His  corse,  and  from  his  face  the  death-sweat  laves.  375 

The  Hesperian  Naiads  gave  his  blackened  form 
A  tomb,  and  on  the  stone  these  lines  engraved : 
"  This  is  the  grave  of  Phaethon,  who  strove 
To  guide  his  Father's  car ;  and,  if  he  strove 


346  OVID 

In  vain,  at  least  in  no  mean  venture  failed."  sso 

O'erwhelmed  with  grief  that  Father  veiled,  they  say, 

His  head,  and  left  the  World  —  believe  who  will  — 

For  one  whole  day  without  a  Sun.     The  flames 

Awful  supplied  his  place :  —  so  came  of  ill 

Some  good  at  least.     But  Clymene,  when  grief         335 

With  all  wild  words  to  such  a  sorrow  due 

Had  spent  its  earliest  force,  forlorn  and  crazed 

Of  soul,  with  careless  vest  and  torn,  all  Earth 

Exploring  traversed,  in  the  hope  to  find 

His  limbs,  or,  when  the  hope  grew  vain,  his  bones.     390 

To  these,  in  that  far  land  entombed,  at  last 

She  comes,  and  o'er  them  broods,  and  with  her  tears 

Wets,  as  she  reads,  the  name  beloved,  and  warms 

The  marble  to  her  bosom  pressed.     Nor  less  394 

His  Heliad  sisters 1  mourned ;  with  sobs  and  tears,  — 

Vain  gifts  which  Death  not  heeds,  —  and  hands  that 

beat 

Their  breasts,  and  linked  around  the  tomb,  by  day, 
By  night,  they  call  the  Brother,  whose  dull  ear 
No  plaints  of  theirs  may  reach.   Four  times  the  Moon 
Her  horns  fresh  filling,  heard  them,  —  for  the  wail    400 
From  use  was  custom  now  :  —  when,  as  she  bent 
To  kneel,  Phaethusa,  eldest  born,  her  feet 
Felt  stiffen,  and  Lampetie,  at  her  cry 
Starting,  took  sudden  root,  and  strove  in  vain 
For  motion  to  her  aid.     The  third,  her  hair  405 

In  anguish  tearing,  tore  off  leaves !     And  now 
Their  legs  grow  fixed  as  trunks,  their  arms  as  boughs 
Extend,  and  upward  round  them  creeps  a  bark 
That  gradual  folds  the  form  entire,  save  yet 
The  head  and  mouth  that  to  their  mother  shrieks     410 
For  help.     What  help  is  there  to  give  ?     Now  here, 

1  The  three  daughters  of  Phoebus  Apollo  and  Glymene. 


PHAETHON  347 

Now  there  she  rushes,  frantic,  kissing  this 
Or  that  while  yet  she  can,  and  strives  to  rend 
Their  bodies  from  the  clasping  bark,  and  tears 
The  fresh  leaves  from  their  sprouting  heads,  and  sees, 
Aghast,  red  drops  as  from  some  wound  distil.  n& 

And  "  Ah,  forbear !  "  the  sufferer  shrieks  —  "  For- 
bear, 

O  mother  dear !     Our  bodies  in  these  trees 
Alone  are  rent !     Farewell !  "    And  o'er  the  words 
Scarce  uttered  closed  the  bark,  — and  all  was  still.  420 

But  yet  they  weep :  —  and,  in  the  sun,  their  tears 
To  amber  harden,  by  the  clear  stream  caught 
And  borne,  the  gaud  and  grace  of  Latian  maids. 

HENRY  KINO. 


LIVY 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

THE  greatest  prose  work  of  the  Augustan  age  is  the  His- 
tory of  Rome  from  its  earliest  beginnings  to  9  B.  c.  by 
Titus  Livius.  It  was  in  all  probability  the  author's  intention 
to  bring  the  narrative  down  to  his  own  times,  but  he  died 
before  he  had  accomplished  his  task.  There  were  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-two  books  in  all,  of  which  only  thirty-five 
have  survived,  namely  the  first,  third,  fourth,  and  part  of 
the  fifth  decade.  The  work  was  originally  published  in 
parts  of  varying  length,  as  the  presence  of  prefaces  at  vari- 
ous points  in  the  narrative  indicates.  The  division  into 
decades  was  made  by  publishers  of  the  fourth  or  fifth  cen- 
tury. 

According  to  St.  Jerome's  version  of  Eusebius,  Livy  was 
born  at  Padua  in  59  B.  c.  He  came  of  a  good  family  and 
was  carefully  educated.  Rhetoric  was  the  most  prominent 
element  in  the  school  curricula  of  the  time,  and  in  his  case 
even  special  emphasis  seems  to  have  been  laid  upon  it.  He 
acquired,  moreover,  an  adequate  knowledge  of  literature, 
both  Greek  and  Latin,  and  his  interest  in  philosophy  is  at- 
tested by  the  fact  that  he  wrote  some  dialogues  on  themes 
which  fall  within  that  field.  He  was  probably  about  thirty 
years  of  age  when  he  came  to  Rome,  where  he  continued  to 
reside  till  almost  the  close  of  his  life.  In  the  Civil  War  his 
sympathies  had  been  with  the  party  of  Pompey,  but  Au- 
gustus harbored  no  resentment  against  him  on  this  account, 
and  the  friendliest  relations  existed  between  the  two  men. 


LIVY  349 

For  the  most  part  he  kept  aloof  from  public  life  and  de- 
voted himself  exclusively  to  his  historical  work.  The  story 
that  he  was  the  tutor  of  Claudius,  afterwards  emperor,  does 
not  rest  on  very  substantial  foundations.'  It  is,  however, 
quite  possible  that  it  was  on  his  suggestion  that  the  prince 
turned  his  attention  to  historiography.  It  was  after  the 
accession  of  Tiberius  that  he  retired  to  Padua,  where  he 
died  in  17  A.  D. 

Judged  from  the  point  of  view  of  modern  historical  re- 
search, Livy's  work  is  open  to  criticism  on  many  counts : 
there  is  a  very  limited  use  of  original  sources  even  where 
original  sources  were  easily  accessible ;  he  shows  but  a  scant 
knowledge  of  legal  and  constitutional  history  ;  he  is  not  al- 
ways wise  in  his  choice  of  authorities  ;  and  very  frequently 
we  find  a  leaning  in  the  direction  of  the  picturesque  and 
the  dramatic  that  does  not  make  for  accuracy  of  statement. 
Yet  whatever  defects  his  work  may  have,  its  merits  far  out- 
weigh them.  And  most  conspicuous  of  these  is  his  success 
in  making  his  subject  vital.  He  has  revivified  the  dry 
bones  of  history  found  in  the  jejune  accounts  of  the  annal- 
ists. His  own  scepticism  in  all  matters  of  early  history  has 
not  prevented  his  giving  us  glowing  pictures  of  the  various 
alleged  occurrences  that  had  become  a  part  of  Rome's  tra- 
dition. The  personalities  of  the  kings,  of  the  first  consuls, 
and  of  all  the  heroes  who  had  added  their  quota  to  the  sum 
of  their  country's  greatness,  stand  out  clearly  defined,  and 
this  long  gallery  of  national  portrait^  is  a  notable  fea- 
ture of  his  history.  Equally  effective  is  his  .treatment  of 
situations  and  events  within  historic  times.  ;  He  has  the 
artist's  gift  of  singling  out  important  and  interesting  ele- 
ments, and  reproducing  them  in  rich  phrases  and  rolling 
periods  that  remind  us  of  the  best  period  of  Roman  oratory. ) 
Now  it  is  a  scene  in  the  Roman  senate,  now  some  phase  of 
the  struggle  between  the  patricians  and  the  plebeians,  now 
a  foreign  war ;  but  everywhere,  no  matter  what  the  subject 
is,  we  find  the  same  charm,  the  same  distinction  of  style, 


350  LIVY 

the  same  vivid  imagination  and  descriptive  power.  His 
accounts  of  battles  almost  invariably  occasion  more  or  less 
difficulty  to  the  topographical  experts,  but  even  they  will 
not  dispute  the  claim  that  they  are  good  battles.  His  de- 
scription of  Hannibal's  march  across  the  Alps  leaves  us  in 
doubt  as  to  what  route  was  taken,  but  no  reader  will  easily 
forget  the  impression  made  by  those  graphic  pages.  If  we 
are  to  believe  the  statement  of  a  later  critic,  one  at  any 
rate  of  his  contemporaries  saw  traces  of  provincialism  in 
his  style,  but  the  charge  has  never  been  made  good,  and 
the  so-called  Patavinitas  of  Livy  (from  Fatavium,  his 
native  town)  remains  a  mystery,  a  stylistic  will  o'  the  wisp, 
which  has  eluded  many  generations  of  scholars.  The  story 
of  the  citizen  of  Cadiz  who  travelled  to  Rome  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  seeing  the  great  historian  may  be  fairly 
adduced  as  an  indication  of  the  reputation  he  had  in  his 
own  time,  and  the  number  of  references  to  his  work  by 
later  writers  shows  the  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  by 
posterity. 


THE  HISTORIAN'S  PREFACE 

WHETHER  in  tracing  the  history  of  Rome  from 
the  foundation  of  the  city  I  shall  employ  my  time 
to  good  purpose,  is  a  question  which  I  cannot  pos- 
itively determine ;  nor,  were  it  possible,  would  I  ven- 
ture to  announce  such  determination ;  for  I  am  aware 
that  the  matter  is  of  high  antiquity,  and  has  been 
already  treated  by  many  others  ;  the  latest  writers 
always  supposing  themselves  capable  either  of  throw- 
ing some  new  light  on  the  subject  or,  by  the  su- 
periority of  their  talents  for  composition,  of  excel- 
ling the  more  inelegant  writers  who  preceded  them. 
However  that  may  be,  I  shall,  at  all  events,  derive 
no  small  satisfaction  from  the  reflection  that  my  best 


THE  HISTORIAN'S  PREFACE  351 

endeavors  have  been  exerted  in  transmitting  to  pos- 
terity the  achievements  of  the  greatest  people  in  the 
world  ;  and  if,  amid  such  a  multitude  of  writers,  my 
name  should  not  emerge  from  obscurity,  I  shall  con- 
sole myself  by  attributing  it  to  the  eminent  merit  of 
those  who  stand  in  my  way  in  the  pursuit  of  fame.  It 
may  be  further  observed  that  such  a  subject  must  re- 
quire a  work  of  immense  extent,  as  our  researches  must 
be  carried  back  through  a  space  of  more  than  seven 
hundred  years ;  that  the  state  has,  from  very  small 
beginnings,  gradually  increased  to  such  a  magnitude, 
that  it  is  now  distressed  by  its  own  bulk ;  and  that 
there  is  every  reason  to  apprehend  that  the  generality 
of  readers  will  receive  but  very  little  pleasure  from 
the  accounts  of  its  first  origin  or  of  the  times  imme- 
diately succeeding,  but  will  be  impatient  to  arrive  at 
the  period  in  which  the  powers  of  this  overgrown 
state  have  been  long  employed  in  working  their  own 
destruction.  On  the  other  hand,  this  much  will  be 
derived  from  my  labor,  that,  so  long  at  least  as  I  shall 
have  my  thoughts  totally  occupied  in  investigating  the 
transactions  of  such  distant  ages,  without  being  em- 
barrassed by  any  of  those  unpleasant  considerations 
in  respect  of  later  days,  which,  though  they  might  not 
have  power  to  warp  a  writer's  mind  from  the  truth^- 
would  yet  be  sufficient  to  create  uneasiness,  I  shall 
withdraw  myself  from  the  sight  of  the  many  evils  to 
which  our  eyes  have  been  so  long  accustomed.  As  to 
the  relations  which  have  been  handed  down  of  events 
prior  to  the  founding  of  the  city,  or  to  the  circum- 
stances that  gave  occasion  to  its  being  founded,  and 
which  bear  the  semblance  rather  of  poetic  fictions, 
than  of  authentic  records  of  history,  —  these,  I  have 
no  intention  either  to  maintain  or  refute.  Antiquity 


352  LIVY 

is  always  indulged  with  the  privilege  of  rendering  the 
origin  of  cities  more  venerable  by  intermixing  divine 
with  human  agency ;  and  if  any  nation  may  claim  the 
privilege  of  being  allowed  to  consider  its  origin  as 
sacred,  and  to  attribute  it  to  the  operations  of  the 
gods,  surely  the  Roman  people,  who  rank  so  high  in 
military  fame,  may  well  expect  that,  while  they  choose 
to  represent  Mars  as  their  own  parent  and  that  of 
their  founder,  the  other  nations  of  the  world  may  ac- 
quiesce in  this,  with  the  same  deference  with  which 
they  acknowledge  their  sovereignty.  But  what  de- 
gree of  attention  or  credit  may  be  given  to  these  and 
similar  matters  I  shall  not  consider  as  very  mate- 
rial. ^  To  the  following  considerations  I  wish  every  one 
seriously  and  earnestly  to  attend,  —  by  what  kind  of 
men,  and  by  what  sort  of  conduct,  in  peace  and  war, 
the  empire  has  been  both  acquired  and  extended : 
then,  as  discipline  gradually  declined,  let  him  follow 
in  his  thoughts  the  structure  of  ancient  morals,  at 
first,  as  it  were,  leaning  aside,  then  sinking  farther 
and  farther,  then  beginning  to  fall  precipitate,  until 
he  arrives  at  the  present  times,  when  our  vices  have 
attained  to  such  a  height  of  enormity,  that  we  can  no 
longer  endure  either  the  burden  of  them  or  the  sharp- 
ness of  the  necessary  remedies.  This  is  the  great  ad- 
vantage to  be  derived  from  the  study  of  history  ;  in- 
deed the  only  one  which  can  make  it  answer  any  pro- 
fitable and  salutary  purpose  ;  1  for  being  abundantly 
furnished  with  clear  and  distinct  examples  of  every 
kind  of  conduct,  we  may  select  for  ourselves  and  for 
the  state  to  which  we  belong  such  as  are  worthy  of 
imitation  ;  and  carefully  noting  such  as,  being  dis- 
honorable in  their  principles,  are  equally  so  in  their 
effects,  learn  to  avoid  them.  Now,  either  partiality  to 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  S A  BINE   WOMEN      353 

the  subject  of  my  intended  work  misleads  me,  or  there 
never  was  any  state  either  greater  or  of  purer  morals, 
or  richer  in  good  examples,  than  this  of  Koine  ;  nor 
was  there  ever  any  city  into  which  avarice  and  luxury 
made  their  entrance  so  late,  or  where  poverty  and 
frugality  were  so  highly  and  so  long  held  in  honor ; 
men  contracting  their  desires  in  proportion  to  the 
narrowness  of  their  circumstances.  Of  late  years,  in- 
deed, opulence  has  introduced  a  greediness  of  gain,  and 
the  boundless  variety  of  dissolute  pleasures  has  created 
in  many  a  passion  for  ruining  themselves,  and  all 
around  them.  But  let  us,  in  the  first  stage  at  least  of 
this  undertaking,  avoid  gloomy  reflections,  which,  when 
perhaps  unavoidable,  will  not  even  then  be  agreeable. 
If  it  were  customary  with  us,  as  it  is  with  poets,  we 
would  more  willingly  begin  with  good  omens  and  vows 
and  prayers  to  the  gods  and  goddesses  that  they  would 
propitiously  grant  success  to  our  endeavors  in  the 
prosecution  of  so  arduous  a  task.1 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  SABINE  WOMEN 

(I.,  4.) 

THE  Roman  state  had  now  attained  such  a  degree 
of  power  that  it  was  a  match  in  arms  for  any  of  the 
neighboring  nations ;  but  from  the  small  number  of  its 
women,  its  greatness  was  not  likely  to  last  longer  than 
one  age  of  man,  as  they  had  neither  hopes  of  offspring 
among  themselves  nor  had  yet  contracted  any  inter- 
marriages with  their  neighbors.  Romulus,  therefore, 
by  advice  of  the  senate,  sent  ambassadors  round  to  all 
adjoining  states,  soliciting  their  alliance,  and  permis- 

1  Baker's  translation  has  been  used  for  all  the  selections  from  Livy. 


354  LIVY 

sion  for  his  new  subjects  to  marry  among  them :  he 
intimated  to  them  that  "  cities,  like  everything  else, 
rise  from  low  beginnings;  that  in  time  those  which 
are  supported  by  their  own  merit  and  the  favor  of  the 
gods  procure  to  themselves  great  power  and  a  great 
name ;  and  that  he  had  full  assurance  both  that  the 
gods  favored  the  founding  of  Rome,  and  that  the  peo- 
ple would  not  be  deficient  in  merit.  Wherefore,  as 
men,  they  ought  to  show  no  reluctance  to  mix  their 
blood  and  race  with  men."  In  no  one  place  were  his 
ambassadors  favorably  heard ;  such  contempt  of  them 
did  people  entertain,  and  at  the  same  time  such  appre- 
hensions of  danger  to  themselves  and  their  posterity 
from  so  great  a  power  growing  up  in  the  midst  of  them. 
By  the  greater  part  they  were  dismissed  with  the  ques- 
tion, "  whether  they  had  opened  an  asylum  for  wo- 
men also,  for  that  would  be  the  only  way  to  procure 
suitable  matches  for  them  ?  "  This  was  highly  resented 
by  the  Roman  youth ;  to  such  an  extent,  indeed,  that 
the  business  appeared  evidently  to  point  towards  vio- 
lence. Romulus,  in  order  to  afford  them  a  convenient 
time  and  place  for  a  design  of  that  sort,  dissembling 
his  displeasure,  prepared  with  that  intent  to  celebrate 
solemn  games  in  honor  of  the  equestrian  Neptune,  to 
which  he  gave  the  name  of  Consualia.  He  then 
ordered  the  intended  celebration  to  be  proclaimed 
among  the  neighboring  nations,  while  his  people  ex- 
erted themselves  in  making  the  most  magnificent  pre- 
parations that  their  knowledge  and  abilities  allowed, 
in  order  to  gain  attention  and  raise  expectation. 
Great  numbers  of  people  assembled  ;  induced,  in  some 
measure,  by  a  desire  of  seeing  the  new  city ;  espe- 
cially those  whose  countries  lay  nearest,  the  Caeninen- 
sians,  Crustiminians  and  Antemnatians  ;  in  particular 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  SABINE   WOMEN     355 

the  whole  multitude  of  the  Sabines  came  with  their 
wives  and  children.  They  were  hospitably  invited  to 
the  different  houses,  and  when  they  viewed  the  sit- 
uation and  the  fortifications  and  the  city  crowded 
with  houses,  they  were  astonished  at  the  rapid  increase 
of  the  Roman  power.  When  the  show  began  and 
every  person's  thoughts  and  eyes  were  attentively  en- 
gaged on  it,  then,  according  to  a  preconcerted  plan, 
on  a  signal  being  given,  the  Roman  youth  ran  dif- 
ferent ways  to  carry  off  the  young  women.  Some 
they  bore  away  as  they  happened  to  meet  with  them, 
without  waiting  to  make  a  choice ;  but  others  of  ex- 
traordinary beauty,  being  designed  for  the  principal 
senators,  were  conveyed  to  their  houses  by  plebeians 
employed  for  that  purpose.  It  is  said  that  one  highly 
distinguished  above  the  rest  for  her  beauty  was  car- 
ried off  by  the  party  of  one  Talassius ;  and  that  in 
answer  to  many  who  eagerly  inquired  to  whom  they 
were  hurrying  her,  they,  every  now  and  then,  to  pre- 
vent any  interruption  in  their  course,  cried  out  that 
they  were  carrying  her  to  Talassius : l  this  circumstance 
gave  rise  to  the  use  of  that  word  at  weddings.  The  ter- 
ror occasioned  by  this  outrage  put  an  end  to  the  sports ; 
and  the  parents  of  the  young  women  retired,  full  of 
grief,  inveighing  against  such  a  violation  of  the  laws 
of  hospitality,  and  appealing  to  the  god  to  whose 
solemn  festival  and  games  they  had  come,  relying  on 
the  respect  due  to  religion  and  on  the  faith  of  nations. 
Nor  did  the  women  who  were  seized  entertain  better 
hopes  with  regard  to  themselves,  or  a  less  degree  of 
indignation.  However,  Romulus  went  about  in  person 

1  "  Talassio  "  was  a  cry  raised  at  bridal  processions.  It  was  prob- 
ably of  ISabine  origin,  and  the  explanation  given  by  Livy  here  is  in- 
correct. 


856  LIVY 

and  told  them  that  "  this  proceeding  had  been  oc- 
casioned by  the  haughtiness  of  their  parents,  who  re- 
fused to  allow  their  neighbors  to  marry  among  them  ; 
that,  notwithstanding  this,  they  should  be  united  to 
his  people  in  wedlock  in  the  common  enjoyment  of 
all  property,  and  of  their  common  children  ;  a  bond 
of  union  than  which  the  human  heart  feels  none 
more  endearing.  He  begged  of  them  to  soften  their 
resentment,  and  to  bestow  their  affections  on  those 
men  on  whom  chance  had  bestowed  their  persons.  It 
often  happened,  he  said,  that  to  harsh  treatment  mu- 
tual regard  had  succeeded,  and  they  would  find  their 
husbands  behave  the  better  on  this  very  account ;  that 
every  one  would  exert  himself,  not  merely  in  per- 
forming his  duty  as  a  husband,  but  to  make  up  to 
them  for  the  loss  of  their  parents  and  of  their  coun- 
try." To  these  persuasions  was  added  the  soothing 
behavior  of  their  husbands  themselves,  who  urged 
in  extenuation  of  their  violence  that  they  had  been 
tempted  to  commit  the  excess  from  passion  and  the 
force  of  love :  arguments,  than  which  there  can  be 
none  more  powerful  to  assuage  the  irritation  of  the 
female  mind. 


HORATIUS  1 
(I.,  10.) 

As  the  enemy  drew  nigh,  every  one  moved  hastily 
from  the  country  into  the  city,  on  every  side  of 
which  strong  guards  were  posted.  Some  parts  seemed 

1  Horatius'  defence  of  the  bridge  took  place  on  the  occasion  of  an 
attempt  by  Tarquinius  Superbus,  aided  by  Lars  Porsena,  Kin-  of  the 
Etruscan  city  of  Clusium,  to  recover  his  sovereignty  in  Rome. 


HORA  TIUS  357 

well  secured  by  the  walls,  others  by  the  Tiber  run- 
ning close  to  them.  The  Sublician  l  bridge  was  very 
near  affording  the  enemy  an  entrance,  had  it  not 
been  for  one  man,  Horatius  Codes  :  no  other  bulwark 
had  the  fortune  of  Rome  on  that  day.  He  happened 
to  be  posted  on  guard  at  the  bridge,  and  when  he 
saw  the  Janiculum  2  taken  by  a  sudden  assault,  and 
the  enemy  pouring  down  thence  in  full  speed,  his 
countrymen  in  disorder  and  confusion,  no  longer 
attempting  opposition  but  quitting  their  ranks,  he 
caught  hold  of  every  one  that  he  could,  and,  appeal- 
ing to  gods  and  men,  assured  them  that  "  it  was  in 
vain  that  they  fled,  after  deserting  the  post  which 
could  protect  them;  that  if  they  passed  the  bridge 
and  left  it  behind  them,  they  would  soon  see  greater 
numbers  of  the  enemy  in  the  Palatium  and  the  Capi- 
tol than  in  the  Janiculum  ;  wherefore  he  advised  and 
warned  them  to  break  down  the  bridge  by  their 
swords,  fire,  or  any  other  effectual  means,  while  he 
should  sustain  the  attack  of  the  enemy,  as  long  as  it 
was  possible  for  one  person  to  withstand  them.  He 
then  advanced  to  the  first  entrance  of  the  bridge,  and 
being  easily  distinguished  from  those  who  showed 
their  backs  in  retreating  from  the  fight,  facing  to 
the  front,  with  his  arms  prepared  for"  action,  he 
astonished  the  enemy  by  his  wonderful  intrepidity. 
Shame,  however,  prevailed  on  two  to  remain  with 
him,  Spurius  Lartius  and  Titus  Herminius,  both  of 
them  men  of  distinguished  families  and  characters: 
with  their  assistance  he  for  a  time  supported  the  first 
storm  and  the  most  furious  part  of  the  fight.  Even 
these  he  sent  back,  when  the  bridge  was  nearly  de- 

1  Literally,  the  pile-bridge. 

2  The  hill  on  the  Etruscan  side  of  the  Tiber. 


358  LIVY 

stroyed,  and  those  who  were  employed  in  breaking  it 
down  called  on  them  to  retire;  then  darting  fierce, 
menacing  looks  at  each  of  the  leaders  of  the  Etrurians, 
he  sometimes  challenged  them  singly,  sometimes  up- 
braided them  all  together,  as  slaves  of  haughty  kings, 
who,  incapable  of  relishing  liberty  themselves,  had 
come  to  wrest  it  from  others.  For  a  considerable  time 
they  hesitated,  looking  about  for  some  other  to  begin 
the  combat.  Then  shame  at  length  put  their  troops 
in  motion,  and  setting  up  a  shout,  they  poured  their 
javelins  from  all  sides  against  their  single  opponent. 
But  when  all  these  stuck  in  the  shield  with  which  he 
guarded  himself,  and  he  still  persisted  in  keeping  pos- 
session of  his  post,  they  had  now  resolved,  by  making 
a  violent  push,  to  force  him  from  it,  when  the  crash  of 
the  falling  bridge,  and  at  the  same  time  a  shout  raised 
by  the  Romans,  filled  them  with  sudden  dismay,  and 
stopped  them  from  proceeding  in  the  attempt.  Then 
Codes  said,  "  Holy  father  Tiberinus,  I  beseech  thee  to 
receive  these  arms,  and  this  thy  soldier,  into  thy  pro- 
pitious stream."  With  these  words,  armed  as  he  was, 
he  leaped  down  into  the  Tiber,  and  through  showers  of 
darts  which  fell  around  him,  swam  safe  across  to  his 
friends,  having  exhibited  a  degree  of  intrepidity  which 
in  after  times  was  more  generally  celebrated  than  be- 
lieved. The  state  showed  a  grateful  sense  of  such  high 
desert :  a  statue  was  erected  to  him  in  the  Comitium, 
and  he  was  given  a  grant  of  land  as  large  as  he  could 
plough  completely  in  one  day.  The  zeal  of  private 
persons  too  was  conspicuous  amidst  the  honors  con- 
ferred on  him  by  the  public ;  for,  great  as  the  scarcity 
then  was,  every  one  contributed  something  to  him, 
in  proportion  to  the  stock  of  their  family,  abridging 
themselves  of  their  own  proper  support. 


BEFORE  THE   WAR  359 

BEFORE  THE  WAR1 
(XXL,  1.) 

To  this  division  of  my  work  I  may  be  allowed  to' 
prefix  a  remark  which  most  writers  of  history  make 
in  the  beginning  of  their  undertaking :  that  I  am  go- 
ing to  write  of  a  war,  the  most  memorable  that  was 
ever  waged  ;  that  which  the  Carthaginians,  under  the 
conduct  of  Hannibal,  maintained  with  the  Roman 
people ;  for  never  did  any  other  states  and  nations  of 
more  potent  strength  and  resources  engage  in  any 
contest  of  arms ;  nor  did  these  same  nations  at  any 
other  period  possess  so  great  a  degree  of  power  and 
strength.  The  arts  of  war  also,  practised  by  each 
party,  were  not  unknown  to  each  other,  for  they  had 
already  gained  some  experience  of  them  in  the  First 
Punic  War ;  and  so  various  was  the  fortune  of  this 
war,  so  great  its  vicissitudes,  that  the  party  which 
proved  in  the  end  victorious  was  at  times  brought  the 
nearest  the  brink  of  ruin.  Besides,  they  exerted  in 
the  contest  almost  a  greater  degree  of  rancor  than 
of  strength,  the  Romans  being  fired  with  indignation 
at  a  vanquished  people  presuming  to  take  up  arms 
against  their  conquerors ;  the  Carthaginians,  at  the 
haughtiness  and  avarice  which  they  thought  the  others 
showed  in  their  imperious  exercise  of  the  superiority 
which  they  had  acquired.  We  are  told  that  when 
Hamilcar 2  was  about  to  march  at  the  head  of  an 
army  into  Spain,  after  the  conclusion  of  the  war  in 
Africa,  and  was  offering  sacrifices  on  the  occasion, 

1  The  next  seven  selections  give  some  of  the  more  important  events 
of  the  Second  Punic  War  (219-202  B.C.). 
9  The  leader  of  the  Carthaginians  in  the  first  war  with  Rome. 


360  LIVY 

his  son  Hannibal,  then  about  nine  years  of  age,  so- 
licited him  with  boyish  fondness  to  take  him  with 
him.  Whereupon  he  brought  him  up  to  the  altars, 
and  compelled  him  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  consecrated 
victims  and  swear  that  as  soon  as  he  should  be  in 
power,  he  would  show  himself  an  enemy  to  the  Roman 
people.  Being  a  man  of  high  spirit,  he  was  deeply 
chagrined  at  the  loss  of  Sicily  and  Sardinia ;  for  he 
considered  Sicily  as  given  up  by  his  countrymen  by 
too  hasty  despair  of  their  affairs,  and  Sardinia  as 
fraudulently  snatched  out  of  their  hands  by  the  Ro- 
mans during  the  commotions  in  Africa,  with  the  ad- 
ditional insult  of  a  tribute  imposed  upon  them. 


HANNIBAL 

(XXL,  4.) 

A  FEW,  particularly  those  of  the  best  understand- 
ing, concurred  in  opinion  with  Hanno ; 1  but,  as  it 
generally  happens,  the  more  numerous  party  prevailed 
over  the  more  judicious.  Hannibal  was  sent  into 
Spain,  and  upon  his  first  arrival  attracted  the  notice  of 
the  whole  army.  The  veteran  soldiers  imagined  that 
Hamilcar  was  restored  to  them  from  the  dead,  observ- 
ing in  him  the  same  animated  look  and  penetrating 
eye,  the  same  expression  of  countenance,  and  the 
same  features.  Then,  such  was  his  behavior,  that  in 
a  short  time  the  memory  of  his  father  was  the  least 
among  their  inducements  to  esteem  him.  Never  be- 
fore had  a  man  possessed  a  genius  so  admirably  fitted 
to  the  discharge  of  offices  so  opposite  in  their  very 

1  A  distinguished  Carthaginian,  who  bitterly  opposed  the  plans  of 
Hamilcar,  and  afterwards  of  Hannibal. 


HANNIBAL  361 

nature  as  obeying  and  commanding,  so  that  it  was 
not  easy  to  discern  whether  he  were  more  beloved  by 
the  general  or  by  the  soldiers.  There  was  none  to 
whom  Hasdrubal l  preferred  to  intrust  the  command 
in  any  case  where  courage  and  activity  were  required, 
nor  did  the  soldiers  ever  feel  a  greater  degree  of 
confidence  and  boldness  under  any  other  commander. 
With  perfect  intrepidity  in  facing  danger,  he  pos- 
sessed, in  the  midst  of  the  greatest,  perfect  presence 
of  mind.  No  degree  of  labor  could  either  fatigue 
his  body  or  break  his  spirit:  heat  and  cold  he  en- 
dured with  equal  firmness ;  the  quantity  of  his  food 
and  drink  was  limited  by  natural  appetite,  not  by 
the  pleasure  of  the  palate.  His  seasons  for  sleeping 
and  waking  were  not  distinguished  by  the  day  or 
by  the  night;  whatever  time  he  had  to  spare,  after 
business  was  finished,  he  gave  to  repose,  which  how- 
ever he  never  courted  either  by  a  soft  bed  or  quiet 
retirement :  he  was  often  seen,  covered  with  a  cloak, 
lying  on  the  ground  in  the  midst  of  the  soldiers  on 
guard,  and  on  the  advanced  posts.  His  dress  had 
nothing  in  particular  in  it  beyond  that  of  others  of 
the  same  rank  ;  his  horses  and  his  armor  he  was  al- 
ways remarkably  attentive  to ;  and  whether  he  acted 
among  the  horsemen  or  the  infantry,  he  was  eminently 
the  first  of  either,  the  foremost  in  advancing  to  the 
fight,  the  last  who  quitted  the  field  of  battle.  These 
great  virtues  were  counterbalanced  in  him  by  vices  of 
equal  magnitude,  —  inhuman  cruelty,  perfidy  beyond 
that  of  a  Carthaginian,  a  total  disregard  of  truth,  and 
of  every  obligation  deemed  sacred ;  utterly  devoid  of 

1  Son-in-law  of  Hamilcar,  in  command  of  the  Carthaginian  forces  in 
Spain.  He  was  assassinated  in  220  B.  c.,  and  Hannibal  was  chosen  to 
take  his  place. 


362  LIVY 

all  reverence  for  the  gods,  he  paid  no  regard  to  an 
oath,  no  respect  to  religion.  Endowed  with  such  dis- 
position, a  compound  of  virtues  and  vices,  he  served 
under  the  command  of  Hasdrubal  for  three  years, 
during  which  he  omitted  no  opportunity  of  improving 
himself  in  every  particular,  both  of  theory  and  prac- 
tice, that  could  contribute  to  the  forming  of  an  ac- 
complished general. 


THE  MARCH  ACROSS  THE  ALPS l 
(XXL,  32-38.) 

IN  about  three  days  after  Hannibal's  moving  from 
the  bank  of  the  Rhone,  the  consul  Publius  Corne- 
lius had  come  with  his  forces  in  order  of  battle  to 
the  camp  of  the  enemy,  intending  to  fight  them  with- 
out delay.  But  finding  the  fortifications  abandoned, 
and  concluding  that,  as  they  had  got  the  start  of  him 
so  far,  it  would  be  difficult  to  overtake  them,  he 
marched  back  to  the  sea  where  his  ships  lay  ;  for  he 
judged  that  he  might  thus  with  greater  ease  and 
safety  meet  Hannibal  on  his  descent  from  the  Alps. 
However,  not  to  leave  Spain,  the  province  which  the 
lots  had  assigned  to  his  care,  destitute  of  the  aid  of 
the  Roman  troops,  he  sent  his  brother  Cneius  Scipio 
with  the  greater  part  of  his  forces  against  Hasdrubal,2 
with  the  expectation  of  not  merely  protecting  old 

1  Hannibal  had  started  from  New  Carthage,  on  the  east  coast  of 
Spain,  in  the  spring  of  218  B.  c.  In  a  few  months  he  had  reduced  the 
tribes  north  of  the  Ebro,  crossed  the  Pyrenees,  and  advanced  as  far  as 
the  Rhone.  The  consul  Publius  Cornelius  Scipio  had  sailed  with  his 
forces  to  Gaul,  in  hopes  of  intercepting  him  before  he  reached  the 
Alps. 

*  The  brother  of  Hannibal.    See  note  on  page  301. 


THE  MARCH  ACROSS  THE  ALPS          363 

allies,  and  acquiring  new,  but  of  driving  him  out  of 
Spain.  He  himself,  with  a  very  small  force,  repaired 
to  Genoa,  proposing,  with  the  army  which  was 
stationed  on  the  Po,  to  provide  for  the  security  of 
Italy.  From  the  Druentia,  Hannibal,  passing  through 
a  tract  in  general  level,  without  any  molestation  from 
the  Gauls  inhabiting  those  regions,  arrived  at  the 
Alps.  And  now,  notwithstanding  that  the  men  had 
already  conceived  notions  from  the  reports,  which  in 
cases  capable  of  misrepresentation  generally  go  be- 
yond the  truth,  yet  the  present  view  exhibited  such 
objects  as  renewed  all  their  terrors :  the  height  of  the 
mountains,  the  snow  almost  touching  the  sky,  the 
wretched  huts  standing  on  cliffs,  the  cattle  and  beasts 
shivering  with  the  cold,  the  natives  squalid  and  in  un- 
couth dress,  all  things,  in  short,  animate  and  inani- 
mate, stiffened  with  frost,  besides  other  circumstances 
more  shocking  to  the  sight  than  can  be  represented 
in  words.  As  they  marched  up  the  first  acclivities, 
they  beheld  the  eminences  which  hung  over  them  cov- 
ered with  parties  of  the  mountaineers,  who,  if  they 
had  posted  themselves  in  the  valleys  out  of  view, 
and,  rushing  out  suddenly,  had  made  an  unexpected 
attack,  must  have  occasioned  the  most  terrible  havoc 
and  dismay.  Hannibal  commanded  the  troops  to 
halt,  and  having  discovered  from  some  Gauls  whom 
he  sent  forward  to  examine  the  ground  that  there 
was  no  passage  on  that  side,  encamped  in  the  widest 
valley  which  he  could  find,  where  the  whole  circuit 
around  consisted  of  rocks  and  precipices.  Then  hav- 
ing gained  intelligence  by  means  of  the  same  Gauls 
(who  differed  not  much  from  the  others  in  language 
and  manners,  and  who  had  entered  into  conversation 
with  them)  that  the  pass  was  blocked  up  only  by  day, 


364  LIVY 

and  that  at  night  they  separated  to  their  several  dwell- 
ings, he  advanced  at  the  first  dawn  to  the  eminences,  as 
if  with  the  design  of  forcing  his  way  through  the  pass. 
This  feint  he  carried  on  through  the  whole  day,  his  men 
at  the  same  time  fortifying  a  camp  in  the  spot  where 
they  were  drawn  up.  As  soon  as  he  understood  that 
the  mountaineers  had  retired  from  the  heights  and 
withdrawn  their  guards,  he  made,  for  a  show,  a  greater 
number  of  fires  than  was  proportioned  to  the  troops  who 
remained  in  the  camp,  and  leaving  behind  the  bag- 
gage with  the  cavalry  and  the  greater  part  of  the  in- 
fantry, he  himself,  with  a  light-armed  band  composed 
of  the  most  daring  men  in  the  army,  pushed  rapidly 
through  the  pass,  and  took  post  on  those  very  emi- 
nences of  which  the  enemy  had  been  in  possession. 

At  the  first  dawn  of  the  next  day  the  rest  of  the 
army  began  to  march  forward.  By  this  time  the 
mountaineers,  on  a  given  signal,  were  coming  together 
out  of  their  fortresses  to  their  usual  station ;  when 
on  a  sudden  they  perceived  a  part  of  the  enemy  over 
their  heads  in  possession  of  their  own  strong  post, 
and  the  rest  passing  along  the  road.  Both  these  cir- 
cumstances striking  them  at  once,  they  were  for  some 
time  incapable  of  thought,  or  of  turning  their  eyes  to 
any  other  object.  Afterwards,  when  they  observed 
the  confusion  in  the  pass,  and  that  the  body  of  the 
enemy  was  disordered  on  their  march  by  the  hurry 
among  themselves,  and  particularly  by  the  unruliness 
of  the  affrighted  horses,  they  thought  that  if  they 
could  augment  in  any  degree  the  terror  under  which 
the  army  already  labored,  they  could  destroy  it.  They 
therefore  ran  down  the  rocks  in  an  oblique  direc- 
tion through  pathless  and  circuitous  ways  which  ha- 
bitual practice  rendered  easy  to  them.  And  now  the 


THE  MARCH  ACROSS  THE  ALPS          365 

Carthaginians  had  to  contend  at  once  with  the  Gauls 
and  the  disadvantage  of  the  ground,  and  there  was 
a  greater  struggle  among  themselves  than  with  the 
enemy,  for  every  one  strove  to  get  first  out  of  dan- 
ger. But  the  greatest  disorder  was  occasioned  by  the 
horses,  which,  affrighted  at  the  dissonant  clamors, 
multiplied  by  the  echoes  from  the  woods  and  valleys, 
became  nearly  unmanageable ;  and  when  they  hap- 
pened to  receive  a  stroke  or  a  wound,  grew  so  unruly 
as  to  overthrow  numbers  of  men  and  heaps  of  bag- 
gage of  all  sorts  ;  and  as  there  were  abrupt  passages 
on  each  side  of  the  pass,  their  violence  cast  down 
many  to  an  immense  depth,  so  that  the  fall  of  such 
great  masses  caused  a  dreadful  effect.  Although 
these  were  shocking  sights  to  Hannibal,  yet  he  kept 
his  place  for  a  while,  and  restrained  the  troops  that 
were  with  him,  lest  he  should  increase  the  tumult  and 
confusion.  Afterwards,  seeing  the  line  of  the  army 
broken,  and  that  there  was  danger  of  their  being 
wholly  deprived  of  their  baggage,  in  which  case  the 
effecting  of  their  passage  would  answer  no  purpose, 
he  hastened  down  from  the  higher  ground ;  and 
while  by  the  mere  rapidity  of  his  motion  he  dis- 
persed the  forces  of  the  enemy,  he  at  the  same  time 
increased  the  confusion  among  his  own.  But  this, 
when  the  roads  were  cleared  by  the  flight  of  the 
mountaineers,  was  instantly  remedied,  and  the  whole 
army  was  soon  brought  through  the  pass  not  only 
without  disturbance,  but  almost  without  any  noise. 
He  then  seized  a  fort,  which  was  the  capital  of  that 
district,  and  several  villages  that  lay  around  it,  and 
fed  his  army  for  three  days  with  cattle  taken  from  the 
fugitives.  During  these  three  days,  as  he  was  not 
incommoded  by  the  mountaineers,  nor  much  by  the 


366  LIVY 

nature  of  the  ground,  he  made  a  considerable  progress 
in  his  march. 

He  then  reached  the  territory  of  another  state, 
which  was  thickly  inhabited  for  a  mountainous  coun- 
try :  there  he  was  very  near  suffering  a  defeat,  not 
only  by  open  force,  but  by  his  own  arts,  treachery, 
and  ambush.  Some  men  of  advanced  age,  governors 
of  their  forts,  came  to  the  Carthaginian  as  ambas- 
sadors, with  humble  representations  that  "  as  the 
calamities  of  others  had  afforded  them  a  profitable 
lesson,  they  wished  to  make  trial  of  the  friendship 
rather  than  of  the  strength  of  the  Carthaginians. 
That  they  were  therefore  resolved  to  yield  obedience 
to  all  his  commands,  and  requested  him  to  accept 
provisions  and  guides  on  his  march,  and  hostages  to 
insure  the  performance  of  their  engagements."  Han- 
nibal neither  hastily  crediting,  nor  yet  slighting  their 
offers,  lest,  if  rejected,  they  might  declare  openly 
against  him,  after  returning  a  favorable  answer,  ac- 
cepted the  hostages,  and  made  use  of  the  provisions 
which  they  had,  of  their  own  accord,  brought  to  the 
road ;  but  followed  the  guides,  not  as  through  a 
friendly  country,  but  with  the  strictest  order  in  his 
march.  The  elephants  and  cavalry  composed  the  van, 
and  he  himself  followed  with  the  main  body  of  the 
infantry,  carefully  inspecting  every  particular.  On 
their  coming  into  a  road  narrower  than  the  rest,  con- 
fined on  one  side  by  an  impending  hill,  the  barbarians 
rising  up  on  all  sides  from  places  where  they  had 
lain  concealed,  assailed  them  in  front  and  rear,  in 
close  and  in  distant  fight,  rolling  down  also  huge 
rocks  on  the  troops.  The  most  numerous  body  pressed 
on  the  rear.  There  the  main  force  of  infantry  was 
ready  to  oppose  them  ;  but  had  not  that  been  very 


THE  MARCH  ACROSS  THE  ALPS          367 

strong,  it  must  have  undoubtedly,  in  such  a  difficult 
pass,  have  suffered  very  great  loss :  even  as  the  case 
stood,  it  was  brought  to  the  extremity  of  danger,  and 
almost  to  destruction :  for  whilst  Hannibal  hesitated 
to  lead  his  horsemen  into  the  narrower  road,  though 
he  had  left  no  kind  of  support  at  the  back  of  the  in- 
fantry, the  mountaineers,  rushing  across  and  breaking 
through  between  the  two  divisions  of  the  army,  took 
possession  of  the  pass,  and  Hannibal  spent  one  night 
separated  from  his  cavalry  and  his  baggage. 

Next  day,  the  barbarians  having  relaxed  the  vio- 
lence of  their  attacks  in  the  centre,  the  troops  were 
reunited,  and  carried  through  the  defile,  but  not  with- 
out loss ;  the  destruction  was  greater  however  among 
the  beasts  of  burden  than  among  the  men.  Thence- 
forward the  mountaineers  made  their  attacks  in 
smaller  parties,  more  like  robbers  than  an  army ;  at 
one  time  on  the  van,  at  another  on  the  rear,  just  as 
the  ground  happened  to  afford  them  an  advantage,  or 
as  stragglers  advancing  before  the  rest,  or  staying  be- 
hind, gave  them  an  opportunity.  Although  the  driv- 
ing of  the  elephants  through  the  narrow  roads,  even 
with  all  the  haste  that  could  be  made,  occasioned  much 
loss  of  time,  yet  wherever  they  went  they  effectually 
secured  the  troops  from  the  enemy ;  who,  being  unac- 
customed to  such  creatures,  dared  not  to  come  near 
them.  On  the  ninth  day  the  army  completed  the  as- 
cent to  the  summit  of  the  Alps,  mostly  through  path- 
less tracts  and  wrong  roads ;  into  which  they  had 
been  led  either  by  the  treachery  of  their  guides,  or 
when  these  were  not  trusted,  rashly,  on  the  strength 
of  their  own  conjectures,  following  the  courses  of  the 
valleys.  On  the  summit  they  remained  encamped  two 
days,  in  order  to  refresh  the  soldiers,  who  were  spent 


368  LIVY 

with  toil  and  fighting;  and  in  this  time  several  of 
the  beasts  which  had  fallen  among  the  rocks,  following 
the  tracks  of  the  army,  came  into  camp.  Tired  as 
the  troops  were  of  struggling  so  long  with  hardships, 
they  found  their  terrors  very  much  increased  by  a 
fall  of  snow,  this  being  the  season  of  the  setting  of 
the  constellation  Pleiades.1  The  troops  were  put  in 
motion  with  the  first  light ;  and  as  they  marched  slowly 
over  ground  which  was  entirely  covered  with  snow, 
dejection  and  despair  being  strongly  marked  in  every 
face,  Hannibal  went  forward  before  the  standards,  and 
ordering  the  soldiers  to  halt  on  a  projecting  eminence, 
from  which  there  was  a  wide  extended  prospect,  made 
them  take  a  view  of  Italy,  and  of  the  plains  about  the 
Po,  stretching  along  the  foot  of  the  mountains  ;  then 
told  them  that  "  they  were  now  scaling  the  walls, 
not  only  of  Italy,  but  of  the  city  of  Rome :  that  all 
the  rest  would  be  plain  and  smooth ;  and  after  one 
or  at  most  a  second  battle,  they  would  have  the  bul- 
wark and  capital  of  Italy  in  their  power  and  disposal." 
The  army  then  began  to  advance,  the  enemy  now  de- 
sisting from  any  farther  attempts  on  them  except  by 
trifling  parties  for  pillaging,  as  opportunity  offered. 
But  the  way  was  much  more  difficult  than  it  had  been 
in  the  ascent,  the  declivity  on  the  Italian  side  of  the 
Alps  being  in  most  places  shorter,  and  consequently 
more  perpendicular ;  while  the  whole  way  was  nar- 
row and  slippery,  so  that  the  soldiers  could  not  pre- 
vent their  feet  from  sliding,  nor,  if  they  made  the  least 
false  step,  could  they,  on  falling,  stop  themselves : 
and  thus  men  and  beasts  tumbled  promiscuously  over 
one  another. 

Then  they  came  to  a  ridge  much  narrower  than 

1  The  beginning  of  November. 


THE  MARCH  ACROSS   THE  ALPS  369 

the  others,  and  composed  of  rock  so  upright  that  a 
light-armed  soldier,  making  the  trial,  could  with  dif- 
ficulty by  laying  hold  of  bushes  and  roots,  which  ap- 
peared here  and  there,  accomplish  the  descent.  In 
this  place  the  precipice,  originally  great,  had  by  a 
late  falling  away  of  the  earth  been  increased  to  the 
depth  of  at  least  one  thousand  feet.  Here  the  cavalry 
stopped,  as  if  at  the  end  of  their  journey,  and  Hanni- 
bal, wondering  what  could  be  the  cause  of  the  troops' 
halting,  was  told  that  the  cliff  was  impassable.  Then 
going  up  himself  to  view  the  place,  it  seemed  clear  to 
him  that  he  must  lead  his  army  in  a  circuit,  though 
ever  so  great,  and  through  tracks  never  trodden  be- 
fore. That  way,  however,  was  found  to  be  impracti- 
cable. The  old  snow  indeed  had  become  hard,  and 
being  covered  with  the  new  of  a  moderate  depth,  the 
men  found  good  footing  as  they  walked  through  it ; 
but  when  that  was  dissolved  by  the  treading  of  so  many 
men  and  beasts,  they  then  trod  on  the  naked  ice  be- 
low. Here  they  were  much  impeded,  because  the  foot 
could  take  no  hold  on  the  smooth  ice,  and  was  besides 
more  apt  to  slip  on  account  of  the  declivity  of  the 
ground ;  and  whenever  they  attempted  to  rise,  either 
by  aid  of  the  hands  or  knees,  they  fell  again.  Add  to 
this  that  there  were  neither  stumps  nor  roots  within 
reach,  on  which  they  could  lean  for  support ;  so  that 
they  wallowed  in  the  melted  snow  on  one  entire  sur- 
face of  slippery  ice.  This  the  cattle  sometimes  pene- 
trated as  soon  as  their  feet  reached  the  lower  bed ; 
and  sometimes,  when  they  lost  their  footing,  by  strik- 
ing more  strongly  with  their  hoofs  in  striving  to  keep 
themselves  up,  they  broke  it  entirely  through  ;  so  that 
the  greatest  part  of  them,  as  if  caught  in  traps,  stuck 
fast  in  the  hard,  deep  ice. 


370  LIVY 

At  length,  after  men  and  beasts  were  heartily  fa- 
tigued to  no  purpose,  they  fixed  a  camp  on  the  summit, 
having  with  very  great  difficulty  cleared  even  the 
ground  which  that  required,  so  great  was  the  quantity 
of  snow  to  be  dug  and  carried  off.  The  soldiers  were 
then  employed  to  make  a  way  down  the  steep,  through 
which  alone  it  was  possible  to  effect  a  passage  ;  and  as 
it  was  necessary  to  break  the  mass,  they  felled  and 
lopped  a  number  of  huge  trees  which  stood  near, 
which  they  raised  into  a  vast  pile,  and  as  soon  as  a 
smart  wind  arose,  to  forward  the  kindling  of  it,  set  it 
on  fire ;  and  then,  when  the  stone  was  violently  heated, 
made  it  crumble  to  pieces  by  pouring  qn  vinegar. 
When  the  rock  was  thus  disjointed  by  the  power  of 
the  heat,  they  opened  a  way  through  it  with  iron  in- 
struments, and  inclined  the  descents  with  it  in  such  a 
manner,  that  not  only  the  beasts  of  burden,  but  even 
the  elephants  could  be  brought  down.  Four  days  were 
spent  about  this  rock,  during  which  the  cattle  were 
nearly  destroyed  by  hunger ;  for  the  summits  are  for  the 
most  part  bare,  and  whatever  little  pasture  there  might 
have  been  was  covered  with  snow.  In  the  lower  parts 
are  valleys  and  some  hills,  which,  enjoying  the  benefit 
of  the  sun,  with  rivulets  at  the  side  of  the  woods,  are 
better  suited  to  become  the  residence  of  human  beings. 
There  the  horses  were  sent  out  to  pasture,  and  the 
men,  fatigued  with  the  labor  on  the  road,  allowed  to 
rest  for  three  days.  They  then  descended  into  the 
plains,  where  the  climate,  like  the  character  of  the 
inhabitants,  was  of  a  milder  cast. 

In  this  manner,  as  nearly  as  can  be  ascertained, 
they  accomplished  their  passage  into  Italy,  in  the  fifth 
month,  according  to  some  authors,  after  leaving  New 
Carthage,  having  spent  fifteen  days  in  crossing  the 


THE  MARCH  ACROSS   THE  ALPS  371 

Alps.  As  to  what  number  of  forces  Hannibal  had 
when  he  arrived  in  Italy,  writers  by  no  means  agree. 
Those  who  state  them  at  the  highest  make  them 
amount  to  one  hundred  thousand  foot  and  twenty 
thousand  horse;  while  those  who  state  them  at  the 
lowest  say  twenty  thousand  foot  and  six  of  horse. 
The  authority  of  Lucius  Cincius  Alimentus,1  who 
writes  that  he  was  taken  prisoner  by  Hannibal,  would 
have  the  greatest  weight  with  me,  did  he  not  con- 
found the  number  by  adding  the  Gauls  and  Ligu- 
rians.  He  says  that,  including  these  (who,  it  is  more 
probable,  however,  flocked  to  him  afterwards,  and  so 
some  writers  assert),  there  were  brought  into  Italy 
eighty  thousand  foot  and  ten  thousand  horse  ;  and 
that  he  heard  from  Hannibal  himself,  that  from  the 
time  of  his  passing  the  Rhone  he  had  lost  thirty- 
six  thousand  men,  together  with  a  vast  number  of 
horses  and  other  beasts  of  burden,  before  he  left  the 
country  of  the  Taurinians,2  the  next  nation  to  the 
Gauls  as  he  went  down  into  Italy.  That  he  came  to 
this  state  is  agreed  by  all.  I  am  therefore  the  more 
surprised  at  its  remaining  doubtful  by  what  road 
he  crossed  the  Alps,  and  that  the  opinion  should  com- 
monly prevail  that  he  passed  over  the  Pennine  Hill,  and 
that  from  thence  that  summit  of  these  mountains  got 
its  name.3  Coelius  says  that  he  passed  over  the  hill  of 
Cremo.  Either  of  these  passes  would  have  led  him 
not  in  the  territory  of  the  Taurinians,  but  through 
that  of  the  mountaineers,  called  Salluvians,  to  the 
Libyan  Gauls.  Nor  is  it  probable  that  those  roads 

1  A  Roman  annalist  who  wrote  in  Greek  an  account  of  the  Second 
Punic  War. 

2  Their  chief  town  was  Taurasia,  the  modern  Turin. 

3  A  common  designation  of  the  Carthaginians  was  I'oeni,  with  re- 
ference to  their  Phoenician  origin. 


372  LIVY 

into  Hither  Gaul  should  at  that  time  have  been  open : 
those,  especially,  which  led  to  the  Pennine  Hill  would 
have  been  blocked  up  by  nations  half  German.  And 
besides,  if  the  assertions  of  the  inhabitants  be  admitted 
as  an  argument  of  any  weight,  it  must  be  allowed  that 
the  Veragrians,  the  inhabitants  of  that  very  hill,  deny 
that  the  name  was  given  to  these  mountains  from  any 
passage  of  the  Carthaginians,  and  allege  that  it  was 
so  named  from  a  person,  called  by  the  mountaineers 
Penninus,  worshipped  as  a  divinity  on  the  highest  peak. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  CANNAE1 
(XXIL,  44-49.) 

THE  consuls  pursued  the  Carthaginians,  taking  pro- 
per care  to  examine  the  roads:  when  they  arrived 
near  Cannae,  and  had  the  foe  in  sight,  they  divided 
their  forces  as  before,  and  fortified  two  camps  at  nearly 
the  same  distance  from  each  other  as  they  had  been 
at  Geronium.  As  the  river  Aufidus  ran  by  the  camps 
of  both,  the  watering  parties  of  both  had  access  to  it, 
as  opportunity  served,  but  not  without  encountering 
opposition.  The  Romans,  however,  in  the  smaller 
camp,  which  was  pitched  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Aufidus,  had  greater  liberty  of  supplying  themselves 
with  water,  because  there  were  none  of  the  enemy 
posted  on  the  farther  bank.  Hannibal  now,  conceiving 
hopes  that  the  consuls  might  be  brought  to  an  engage- 
ment in  this  tract,  where  the  nature  of  the  ground  was 
advantageous  to  cavalry,  in  which  kind  of  force  he  had 

1  Hannibal  had  already  defeated  the  Romans  at  the  river  Ticinus 
(218  B.  - •.).  at  the  river  Trebia  (218),  and  at  I^ake  Trasimenua  (217), 
when  he  met  them  at  Cannae,  a  village  in  Apulia,  in  210. 


THE  BATTLE   OF  CANNAE  373 

a  manifest  superiority,  drew  out  his  army  in  order  of 
battle,  and  endeavored  to  provoke  them  by  skirmishes 
of  the  Numidians.  On  this  the  Roman  camp  was 
again  thrown  into  disturbance  by  mutinous  behavior 
on  the  part  of  the  soldiers,  and  dissension  between  the 
consuls ;  Paulus  represented  to  Varro  the  fatal  rash- 
ness of  Sempronius  and  Flaminius ;  and  Varro  to  him 
the  example  of  Fabius  as  a  specious  precedent  for  timid 
and  inactive  commanders :  the  one 1  calling  gods  and 
men  to  witness  that  none  of  the  blame  was  to  be  im- 
puted to  him  of  Hannibal's  now  holding  Italy  as  if  by 
prescriptive  right  of  possession ;  for  he  was  chained 
down  by  his  colleague,  while  the  soldiers,  full  of  rage 
and  ardor  for  the  fight,  were  kept  unarmed.  To  which 
the  other  replied  that,  if  any  misfortune  should  happen 
to  the  legions  from  their  being  hurried  into  an  incon- 
siderate and  rash  engagement,  he  himself,  although 
entirely  free  from  all  reproach,  must  yet  bear  a  share 
of  the  consequences,  be  they  what  they  might.  Let 
him  take  care  that  those  whose  tongues  were  now  so 
ready  and  impetuous  showed  the  same  alertness  during 
the  fight. 

While,  instead  of  deliberating  on  proper  measures, 
they  thus  wasted  time  in  altercation,  Hannibal,  who 
had  kept  his  forces  drawn  up  in  order  of  battle  during 
a  great  part  of  the  day,  led  back  the  rest  towards  the 
camp,  and  despatched  the  Numidian  horse  to  the  other 
side  of  the  river  to  attack  a  watering  party,  which  had 
come  from  the  smaller  camp  of  the  Romans.  They 
had  scarcely  reached  the  opposite  bank  when,  merely 
by  their  shout  and  the  rapidity  of  their  motions,  they 
dispersed  this  disorderly  crowd  ;  and  then  pushed  for- 
ward against  an  advanced  guard  stationed  before  the 

1  Varro. 


374  LIVY 

rampart,  and  almost  up  to  the  very  gates.  The 
Romans,  in  having  their  camp  threatened  by  a  band 
of  irregular  auxiliaries,  felt  an  intolerable  affront,  so 
that  nothing  could  have  restrained  them  from  draw- 
ing out  their  forces  and  passing  the  river,  but  from 
the  chief  command  being  in  the  hands  of  Paulus.  On 
the  next  day,  therefore,  Varro,  whose  turn  it  was  to 
command,  without  conferring  with  his  colleague,  dis- 
played the  signal  for  battle,  and,  marshalling  his  forces, 
led  them  over  the  river,  while  Paulus  followed ;  be- 
cause, though  he  did  not  approve  of  his  design,  yet 
he  could  not  avoid  giving  him  his  support.  Having 
crossed  the  river,  they  were  joined  by  the  troops  from 
the  smaller  camp,  and  formed  their  line  in  this  man- 
ner :  on  the  right  wing,  next  the  river,  they  placed  the 
Roman  cavalry,  and  adjoining  them  the  Roman  in- 
fantry ;  the  extreme  of  the  left  wing  was  composed  of 
the  confederate  cavalry ;  and,  inclosed  by  these,  the 
confederate  infantry  stretched  to  the  centre,  so  as  to 
unite  with  the  Roman  legions.  The  archers  and  other 
light-armed  auxiliaries  formed  the  van.  The  consuls 
commanded  the  wings,  Terentius  the  left,  Aemilius  the 
right ;  the  charge  of  the  centre  was  committed  to 
Geminus  Servilius. 

Hannibal,  at  the  first  light,  sending  before  him  the 
Balearians  and  the  other  light-armed  troops,  crossed 
the  river,  and  posted  each  company  in  his  line  of 
battle,  in  the  same  order  in  which  he  had  led  them 
over.  The  Gallic  and  Spanish  cavalry  occupied  the 
left  wing  near  the  bank,  opposite  the  Roman  cavalry, 
and  the  Numidian  horse  the  right ;  the  infantry  form- 
ing the  centre  in  such  a  manner  that  both  ends  of 
their  line  were  composed  of  Africans,  and  between 
these  were  placed  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards.  The 
Africans,  for  the  most  part,  resembled  a  body  of  Ro- 


THE  BATTLE   OF  CANNAE  375 

man  troops,  being  furnished  in  great  abundance  with 
the  arms  taken  partly  at  Trebia,  but  the  greater  part 
at  Trasimenus.  The  shields  of  the  Gauls  and  Span- 
iards were  nearly  of  the  same  make ;  their  swords 
were  different,  both  in  length  and  form,  those  of  the 
Gauls  being  very  long,  and  without  points ;  those  of 
the  Spaniards,  whose  practice  was  rather  to  thrust  at 
the  enemy  than  to  strike,  light,  handy,  and  sharp 
at  the  point.  The  troops  of  these  nations  made  a 
more  terrible  appearance  than  any  of  the  rest,  on 
account  of  the  size  of  their  bodies.  The  Gauls  were 
naked  from  their  middle  upward ;  the  Spaniards  clad 
in  linen  tunics,  of  a  surpassing  and  dazzling  white- 
ness, and  bordered  with  purple.  The  whole  number 
of  infantry  drawn  up  in  the  field  on  this  occasion 
was  forty  thousand,  of  cavalry  ten  thousand.  The 
generals  who  commanded  the  wings  were  Hasdrubal l 
on  the  left  and  Maharbal2  on  the  right.  Hannibal 
himself,  with  his  brother  Mago,  took  the  command  of 
the  centre.  The  sun,  very  conveniently  for  both 
parties,  shone  on  their  flanks,  whether  this  position 
was  chosen  designedly  or  that  it  fell  out  by  acci- 
dent; for  the  Romans  faced  the  south,  the  Cartha- 
ginians the  north.  The  wind,  which  the  natives  of 
the  country  call  Vulturnus,  blew  briskly  against  the 
Unmans:  and,  by  driving  great  quantities  of  sand 
into  their  faces,  prevented  them  from  seeing  clearly. 
The  shout  being  raised,  the  auxiliaries  advanced, 
and  the  fight  commenced,  first  between  the  light-armed 
troops ;  then  the  left  wing,  consisting  of  Gallic  and 
Spanish  cavalry,  engaged  with  the  right  wing  of  the 
liomans ;  but  not  in  the  usual  method  of  fighting  be- 
tween horsemen,  for  they  were  obliged  to  engage  front 

1  A  brother  of  Hannibal. 

2  One  of  the  most  efficient  of  Hannibal's  officers. 


376  LIVY 

to  front,  no  room  having  been  left  for  any  evolutions, 
the  river  on  the  one  side  and  the  line  of  infantry  on 
the  other  confining  them,  so  that  they  could  only  push 
directly  forward;  at  last,  the  horses  being  pressed 
together  in  a  crowd  and  stopped  from  advancing,  the 
riders,  grappling  man  to  man,  dragged  each  other  to 
the  ground.  The  contest  was  now  maintained  chiefly 
on  foot,  but  was  more  furious  than  lasting ;  for  the 
Roman  horsemen,  unable  to  keep  their  stand,  turned 
their  backs.  When  the  fight  between  the  cavalry  was 
almost  decided,  the  infantry  began  to  engage.  At  first 
the  Gauls  and  Spaniards  maintained  their  ranks  with- 
out betraying  any  inferiority  in  strength  or  courage. 
At  length  the  Romans,  by  frequent  and  persevering 
efforts,  with  their  front  regular  and  in  compact  order, 
drove  back  a  body  which  projected  before  the  rest  of 
the  line  in  form  of  a  wedge,  and  which,  being  too 
thin,  consequently  wanted  strength ;  as  these  gave 
ground,  and  retreated  hastily  and  in  disorder,  they 
pursued,  and  without  slacking  their  charge,  broke 
the  dismayed  and  shattered  battalions;  at  first,  to 
their  centre  line,  and  at  length,  meeting  with  no  re- 
sistance, they  arrived  at  the  reserved  troops  of  the 
Africans,  which  latter  had  been  posted  on  both  flanks 
of  the  others,  inclining  backwards  towards  the  rear, 
while  the  centre,  composed  of  Gauls  and  Spaniards, 
jutted  considerably  forward.  By  the  retreat  of  this 
prominent  part  the  front  was  first  rendered  even ; 
then  by  their  proceeding  still  in  the  same  direction, 
a  bending  inward  was  at  length  formed  in  the  middle, 
on  each  side  of  which  the  Africans  now  formed  wings  ; 
and  the  Romans  incautiously  rushing  into  the  centre, 
these  flanked  them  on  each  side,  and,  by  extending 


THE  BATTLE  OF  CANNAE  377 

themselves  from  the  extremities,  surrounded  them  in 
the  rear  also.  In  consequence  of  this,  the  Romans, 
who  had  already  finished  one  battle,  leaving  the  Gauls 
and  Spaniards,  whom  they  had  pursued  with  much 
•slaughter,  began  a  new  engagement  with  the  Afri- 
cans, in  which  they  had  not  only  the  disadvantage  of 
being  hemmed  in,  and  in  that  position  obliged  to  fight, 
but  also  that  of  being  fatigued,  while  their  antagonists 
were  fresh  and  vigorous. 

By  this  time  the  battle  had  begun  also  on  the  left 
wing  of  the  Romans,  where  the  confederate  cavalry 
had  been  posted  against  the  Numidians :  it  was  lan- 
guid at  first,  and  commenced  with  a  piece  of  Cartha- 
ginian treachery.  About  five  hundred  Numidians, 
carrying,  besides  their  usual  armor  and  weapons, 
swords  concealed  under  their  coats  of  mail,  rode  up 
under  the  appearance  of  deserters,  with  their  bucklers 
behind  their  backs ;  and  having  hastily  alighted  from 
their  horses,  and  thrown  their  bucklers  and  javelins 
at  the  feet  of  their  enemies,  were  received  into  the 
centre  line,  and  conducted  thence  to  the  hindmost 
ranks,  where  they  were  ordered  to  sit  down  in  the 
rear.  There  they  remained  quiet  until  the  fight  was 
begun  in  every  quarter :  when,  however,  the  thoughts 
and  eyes  of  all  were  deeply  intent  on  the  battle, 
snatching  up  the  shields  which  lay  in  great  numbers 
among  the  heaps  of  the  slain,  they  fell  on  the  rear  of 
the  Romans,  and  stabbing  the  men  in  the  backs,  and 
cutting  their  hams,  made  great  slaughter,  and  caused 
still  greater  terror  and  confusion.  While  in  one  part 
dismay  and  flight  prevailed,  in  another  there  was  ob- 
stinate fighting  in  spite  of  despair.  Hasdrubal,  who 
commanded  on  the  left  wing,  after  entirely  routing  the 


378  LIVY 

Roman  cavalry,  went  off  to  the  right,  and,  joining 
the  Numidians,  put  to  flight  the  cavalry  of  the  allies. 
Then,  leaving  the  Numidians  to  pursue  them,  with  his 
Gallic  and  Spanish  horse  he  made  a  charge  on  the 
rear  of  the  Roman  infantry,  while  they  were  busily 
engaged  with  the  Africans. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  field  Paulus  had,  in  the 
very  beginning  of  the  action,  received  a  grievous 
wound  from  a  sling ;  nevertheless,  at  the  head  of  a 
compact  band,  he  frequently  opposed  Hannibal ;  and 
in  several  places  he  restored  the  fight,  being  protected 
by  the  Roman  horsemen,  who  in  the  end  dismounted, 
because  the  consul's  strength  declined  so  far  that  he 
was  not  able  even  to  manage  his  horse.  Hereupon, 
some  one  telling  Hannibal  that  the  consul  had  ordered 
the  cavalry  to  dismount,  he  answered,  as  we  are 
told,  "  I  should  have  been  much  better  pleased  if 
he  had  delivered  them  to  me  in  chains."  The  fight 
maintained  by  the  dismounted  cavalry  was  such  as 
might  be  expected,  when  the  enemy  had  gained  un- 
doubted possession  of  the  victory ;  and,  as  the  van- 
quished chose  to  die  on  the  spot  rather  than  fly,  the 
victors,  enraged  at  them  for  retarding  their  success, 
put  to  death  those  whom  they  could  not  drive  from 
their  ground.  They  did,  however,  at  length  oblige 
them  to  quit  the  field,  their  numbers  being  reduced  to 
a  few,  and  those  quite  spent  with  toil  and  wounds. 
They  were  all  dispersed,  and  such  as  were  able 
repaired  to  their  horses,  in  order  to  make  their 
escape.  Cneius  Lentulus,  a  military  tribune,  seeing, 
as  he  rode  by,  the  consul  sitting  on  a  stone  and 
covered  with  blood,  said  to  him,  "  Lucius  Aemilius,1 
whom  the  gods  ought  to  favor  as  the  only  person  free 

1  Lucius  Aemilius  Paulus. 


THE  BATTLE   OF  CANNAE  379 

from  the  blame  of  this  day's  disaster,  take  this  horse 
while  you  have  any  remains  of  strength  ;  I  will  raise 
you  up  and  protect  you.  Add  not  to  the  fatality 
of  the  fight  the  death  of  a  consul;  without  that 
there  will  be  abundant  cause  of  tears  and  mourn- 
ing." The  consul  replied,  "Your  spirit,  Cneius 
Cornelius,1  I  commend;  but  do  not  waste  in  un- 
availing commiseration  the  short  time  allowed  you 
for  escaping  out  of  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Go, 
carry  a  public  message  from  me  to  the  Senate,  that 
they  fortify  the  city  of  Rome,  and  before  the  victori- 
ous Carthaginian  arrives  secure  it  with  a  powerful 
garrison.  Carry  also  a  private  message  to  Quintus 
Fabius :  tell  him  that  Lucius  Aemilius  has  lived,  and 
now  dies,  in  careful  observance  of  his  directions. 
As  to  myself,  let  me  expire  here,  in  the  midst  of  my 
slaughtered  soldiers,  that  I  may  neither  be  brought 
a  second  time  to  trial  on  the  expiration  of  my  con- 
sulship, nor  stand  forth  an  accuser  of  my  colleague, 
as  if  my  own  innocence  were  to  be  proved  by  the  im- 
peachment of  another."  While  they  were  thus  dis- 
coursing, first  a  crowd  of  their  flying  countrymen,  and 
afterwards  the  enemy,  came  on  them  ;  and  these,  not 
knowing  the  consul,  overwhelmed  him  with  their  weap- 
ons. Lentulus,  during  the  confusion,  escaped  through 
the  swiftness  of  his  horse.  A  general  rout  now  took 
place  ;  seven  thousand  men  fled  into  the  smaller  camp, 
ten  thousand  into  the  greater,  and  about  two  thousand 
into  the  village  of  Cannae ;  but  the  town  not  being 
defended  by  any  fortifications,  these  were  instantly 
surrounded  by  Carthalo  and  the  cavalry.  The  other 
consul,  without  joining  any  party  of  his  routed  troops, 
gained  Venusia,  with  about  seventy  horsemen.  The 

1     Cneius  Cornelius  Lentulus. 


380  LJVY 

number  of  the  slain  is  computed  at  forty  thousand 
foot  and  two  thousand  seven  hundred  horse,  the  loss 
of  natives  and  of  confederates  being  nearly  equal. 
Among  these  were  the  quaestors  belonging  to  both 
consuls,  Lucius  Atilius  and  Lucius  Furius  Bibaculus ; 
twenty-one  military  tribunes ;  several  who  had  passed 
through  the  offices  of  consul,  praetor,  or  aedile,  among 
whom  were  reckoned  Cneius  Servilius  Geminus,  and 
Marcus  Minucius,  who  had  been  master  of  the  horse 
in  the  preceding  year,  and  consul  some  years  before  ; 
likewise  eighty  who  were  members  of  the  Senate,  or 
had  borne  those  offices  which  qualified  them  for 
membership  in  that  body,  and  who  had  voluntarily 
enlisted  as  soldiers  in  the  legions.  The  prisoners 
taken  in  this  battle  are  reckoned  at  three  thousand 
foot  and  three  hundred  horse. 


THE  CARTHAGINIANS  IN   CAPUA 
(XXIIL,  IT.) 

HERE,1  during  the  greater  part  of  the  winter,  Han- 
nibal kept  his  forces  lodged  in  houses,  —  men  who 
had  frequently  and  long  endured  with  firmness  every 
hardship  to  which  human  nature  is  liable,  and  had 
never  been  accustomed  to,  nor  ever  had  experienced 
the  comforts  of  prosperity.  And  it  came  about  that 
they,  whom  no  power  of  adversity  had  been  able  to 
subdue,  were  ruined  by  an  excess  of  good  fortune  and 
by  immoderate  pleasures.  These  produced  effects  the 
more  pernicious  because,  being  hitherto  unaccustomed, 
as  I  have  said,  to  such  indulgences,  they  plunged  into 
them  with  greater  avidity.  Sleep  and  wine,  feasting 

1  Capna,  a  rich  city  in  Campania,  which  had  opened  its  pates  to 
Hannibal. 


THE  END  OF  THE   WAR  381 

and  harlots,  with  which  through  habit  they  became 
daily  more  and  more  delighted,  enervated  both  their 
minds  and  bodies  to  such  a  degree  that  they  owed 
their  preservation  rather  to  the  name  they  had  ac- 
quired by  their  past  victories  than  to  their  present 
strength.  In  the  opinion  of  persons  skilled  in  the 
art  of  war  the  general  was  guilty  of  a  greater  fault 
in  this  instance  than  in  not  leading  his  army  directly 
to  the  city  of  Rome  after  the  battle  of  Cannae ;  for 
that  dilatory  conduct  might  be  supposed  only  to  have 
deferred  the  conquest  for  a  time,  whereas  this  latter 
error  left  him  destitute  of  the  strength  to  effect  it. 
Accordingly  he  marched  out  of  Capua  as  if  with  a 
different  army,  for  it  did  not  retain  in  any  particular 
the  slightest  remnant  of  the  former  discipline.  Most 
of  the  men  returned  to  the  field  encumbered  with 
harlots ;  and,  as  soon  as  they  began  to  live  in  tents, 
and  were  obliged  to  undergo  the  fatigue  of  marches 
and  other  military  labors,  like  raw  recruits,  their 
strength  both  of  body  and  mind  failed  them ;  and 
from  that  time,  during  the  whole  course  of  the  sum- 
mer campaign,  great  numbers  used  to  steal  away 
from  their  standards  without  leave ;  and  the  only 
lurking-place  of  all  these  deserters  was  Capua. 

THE  END  OF  THE  WAR1 
(XXX.,  44,  45.) 

THE  last  peace 2  with  the  Carthaginians  had  been 
made  forty  years  before  this,  in  the  consulate  of  Quin- 

1  On  Hannibal's  leaving  Italy  in  203  B.  c.,  the  Romans  carried  the 
•war  into  Africa,  and,  under  the  leadership  of   Publius   Scipio  Afri- 
canns.  defeated  the  Carthaginians  at  Zaraa  in  202.     Peace  was  con- 
cluded in  the  following  year. 

2  In  241  B.  c.,  after  the  First  Punic  War. 


382  LIVY 

tus  Lutatius  and  Aulus  Manlius.  The  late  war  began 
twenty-three  years  after,  in  the  consulate  of  Pub- 
lius  Cornelius  and  Tiberius  Sempronius,  and  ended 
in  the  seventeenth  year,  when  Cneius  Cornelius  and 
Publius  Aelius  Paetus  were  consuls.  We  are  told  that 
Scipio  often  said  afterwards,  that  the  ambition,  first 
of  Tiberius  Claudius,  and  then  of  Cneius  Cornelius, 
was  what  prevented  that  war  from  ending  in  the  utter 
destruction  of  Carthage.  The  Carthaginians,  having 
been  exhausted  by  the  long  continuance  of  the  late 
struggles,  found  it  difficult  to  raise  the  first  contribu- 
tion money,  so  that  the  senate  house  was  filled  with 
grief  and  lamentations,  on  which  occasion,  it  is  said, 
Hannibal  was  observed  to  laugh ;  and  that  being  re- 
proved by  Hasdrubal  Haedus 1  for  laughing  in  a 
moment  of  public  sorrowing,  and  when  he  himself 
was  the  cause  of  their  tears,  he  said,  "  If  the  inward 
thoughts  could  be  perceived  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  look  of  the  countenance  is  perceived  by  the  eye, 
you  would  be  immediately  convinced  that  the  laughter 
which  you  blame  proceeds  not  from  a  heart  elated 
by  joy,  but  from  one  driven  almost  to  madness  by 
misfortunes ;  and  yet  it  is  not  by  any  means  so  un- 
seasonable as  those  absurd  and  inconsistent  tears  of 
yours.  Then  ought  you  to  have  wept  when  our  arms 
were  taken  from  us,  our  ships  burned,  and  we  our- 
selves forbidden  to  engage  in  foreign  wars ;  that  was 
the  wound  by  which  we  fell.  And  do  not  imagine 
that  the  measures  taken  against  you  by  the  Romans 
were  dictated  merely  by  animosity.  No  great  state 
can  remain  long  at  rest.  If  it  has  no  enemies  abroad, 
it  finds  them  at  home;  as  overgrown  bodies  seem 
safe  from  external  injuries,  but  suffer  grievous  incon- 
1  Hasdrubal,  "  the  Kid,"  an  opponent  of  Hannibal's  party. 


THE  END  OF  THE   WAR  383 

venience  from  their  own  strength.  We  feel,  it  seems, 
for  the  public  misfortunes,  only  in  proportion  as  our 
private  affairs  are  affected  by  them  ;  and  none  of  them 
stings  more  deeply  than  the  loss  of  money.  Thus, 
when  the  spoils  were  stripped  off  from  vanquished 
Carthage,  and  you  saw  her  left  naked  among  so  many 
armed  states  of  Africa,  not  one  of  you  uttered  a  groan  ; 
now,  because  a  contribution  must  be  made  to  the  trib- 
ute out  of  your  private  properties,  you  lament  as  if 
the  existence  of  the  state  were  terminated.  Much  I 
dread  lest  you  quickly  feel  that  the  subject  of  your 
tears  this  day  is  the  lightest  of  your  misfortunes." 
Such  were  Hannibal's  sentiments  which  he  delivered 
to  the  Carthaginians.  Scipio,  having  called  an  as- 
sembly, bestowed  on  Masinissa,1  in  addition  to  his 
paternal  kingdom,  the  city  of  Cirta,  and  other  cities 
and  lands  belonging  to  the  territories  of  Syphax,2 
which  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Roman  people. 
He  ordered  Cneius  Octavius  to  conduct  the  fleet  to 
Sicily,  and  deliver  it  to  the  consul,  Cneius  Cornelius ; 
and  the  ambassadors  of  the  Carthaginians  to  go  to 
Rome,  in  order  that  the  terms  stipulated  for  him 
might  be  ratified  by  the  authority  of  the  Senate  and 
the  order  of  the  people. 

Peace  being  established  by  sea  and  land,  he  em- 
barked his  army,  and  carried  it  over  to  Lilybaeum  in 
Sicily ;  and  from  thence,  sending  a  great  part  of  his 
troops  around  by  sea,  he  himself  landed  in  Italy.  As 
he  proceeded  through  the  country,  he  found  it  no  less 
delighted  at  finding  there  was  an  end  to  the  war  than 
at  the  success  in  it,  not  only  the  inhabitants  of  the 

1  A  king  of  Numidia,  who  had  aided  Scipio  against  Hannibal. 

2  A  prince  of  western  Numidia,  who  had  fought  on  the  side  of  the 
Carthaginians. 


884  LIVY 

cities  pouring  out  to  show  their  respect  to  him,  but 
crowds  of  the  country-people  also  filling  up  the  roads. 
Thus  he  arrived  at  Rome,  where  he  entered  the  city 
in  the  most  splendid  triumph  which  had  ever  been 
beheld.  He  carried  into  the  treasury  a  hundred  and 
twenty-three  thousand  pounds  weight  of  silver,  and 
out  of  the  spoil  distributed  to  each  of  his  soldiers 
four  hundred  asses.1  The  death  of  Syphax  caused 
some  diminution  in  the  splendor  of  the  show,  but  none 
in  the  glory  of  the  general  who  triumphed.  He  died 
a  short  time  before  at  Tibur,  to  which  place  he  had 
been  removed  from  Alba.  His  death,  however,  made 
some  noise,  for  he  was  honored  with  a  public  funeral. 
Polybius,  a  writer  of  no  contemptible  authority,  as- 
serts that  this  king  was  led  in  triumph.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  discover  whether  it  was  the  affection  of 
the  soldiers,  or  the  attachment  of  the  people,  which 
honored  Scipio  with  the  surname  of  Af  ricanus ;  nor 
whether  it  was  brought  into  use  by  the  flattery  of 
his  friends,  as  that  of  Felix  given  to  Sulla,  and  of 
Magnus  to  Pompey,  in  the  memory  of  our  fathers. 
He  was  certainly  the  first  general  distinguished  by 
the  title  of  a  nation  which  he  had  subdued.  Others, 
afterwards  following  his  example,  though  far  inferior 
in  the  greatness  of  their  achievements,  assumed  pom- 
pous inscriptions  for  their  statues,  and  splendid  sur- 
names for  their  families. 

1  The  coin  known  as  the  "  as  "  was  at  this  time  worth  about  1.4 
cents. 


THE  DEATH  OF  HANNIBAL  385 

THE  DEATH  OF  HANNIBAL1 
(XXXIX.,  51.) 

TITUS  QUINTITJS  FLAMININUS  came  as  ambassador 
to  King  Prusias,  who  had  incurred  the  jealousy  of 
the  Romans  by  entertaining  Hannibal  after  the  flight 
of  Antiochus,  and  by  making  war  on  Eumenes.  Soon 
after  his  arrival,  among  other  discourse,  he  remon- 
strated with  Prusias  on  his  giving  protection  to  a  per- 
son who,  of  all  men  living,  was  the  most  inveterate 
enemy  to  the  Roman  nation ;  who  had  incited,  first 
his  own  country,  and  afterwards,  when  its  power  was 
reduced,  King  Antiochus,  to  make  war  on  Rome.  In 
consequence  of  this,  or  of  Prusias  having  himself  a 
desire  of  gratifying  Flamininus,  a  party  of  soldiers  was 
sent  to  guard  Hannibal's  house.  The  Carthaginian  had 
always  foreseen  such  end  of  his  life,  for  he  knew  the 
implacable  hatred  which  the  Romans  bore  him,  and 
placed  little  confidence  in  the  faith  of  kings.  Besides, 
he  had  experienced  the  fickle  temper  of  Prusias,  and 
had  for  some  time  dreaded  the  arrival  of  Flamininus, 
as  an  event  fatal  to  him.  Surrounded  as  he  was  by 
dangers  on  all  sides,  in  order  to  have  always  some  pas- 
sage of  flight  open,  he  had  made  seven  doors  in  his 
house,  of  which  some  were  concealed  lest  they  might  be 
invested  by  a  guard.  But  the  imperious  government 
of  kings  suffers  n9thing  to  remain  secret,  which  they 
choose  to  discover.  The  troops  formed  a  circle  of 

1  Hannibal  remained  at  the  head  of  the  government  for  six  years 
after  the  conclusion  of  peace  with  the  Romans.  Then,  accused  hy 
his  political  enemies  of  planning  to  join  forces  -with  Antiochus,  king  of 
Syria,  in  another  attack  upon  Rome,  he  was  compelled,  on  pressure 
from  the  Romans,  to  flee  from  Carthage.  He  went  first  to  Tyre,  then 
to  Ephesus,  and  finally  to  the  court  of  Prusias,  king  of  Bithynia. 


38G  LIVY 

guards  around  the  house  in  such  a  manner  that  it  was 
impossible  to  slip  out.  Hannibal,  on  being  told  that 
some  of  the  king's  soldiers  were  in  the  porch,  endeav- 
ored to  escape  through  a  back  door,  which  was  the  most 
private,  and  whence  the  passage  was  least  likely  to  be 
observed;  but,  perceiving  that  to  be  guarded,  and 
every  avenue  round  to  be  shut  by  a  body  of  soldiers, 
he  called  for  poison,  which  he  had  long  kept  in  readi- 
ness for  such  an  event,  and  said,  "  Let  us  release  the 
Romans  from  their  long  anxiety,  since  they  have  not 
patience  to  wait  for  the  death  of  an  old  man.  Flamini- 
nus  will  gain  no  very  great  or  memorable  victory  over 
one  unarmed  and  betrayed.  What  an  alteration  has 
taken  place  in  the  behavior  of  the  Roman  people, 
this  day  affords  abundant  proof.  Their  fathers  gave 
warning  to  Pyrrhus,  their  armed  foe,  then  heading 
an  army  against  them  in  Italy,  to  beware  of  poison. 
The  present  generation  have  sent  an  ambassador,  of 
consular  rank,  to  persuade  Prusias  villanously  to  mur- 
der his  guest."  Then  imprecating  curses  on  the  head 
of  Prusias,  and  on  his  kingdom,  and  calling  on  the 
gods,  the  avengers  of  violated  hospitality,  to  witness 
his  breach  of  faith,  he  drank  off  the  contents  of  the 
cup.  In  this  manner  did  Hannibal  end  his  life. 


PETRONIUS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

"WlTH  regard  to  Caius  Petronius,  I  ought  to  dwell  a 
little  on  his  antecedents.  His  days  he  passed  in  sleep,  his 
nights  in  the  business  and  pleasures  of  life.  Indolence  had 
raised  him  to  fame,  as  energy  raises  others,  and  he  was 
reckoned  not  a  debauchee  and  spendthrift,  like  most  of 
those  who  squander  their  substance,  but  a  man  of  refined 
luxury.  And  indeed  his  talk  and  his  doings,  the  freer  they 
were  and  the  more  show  of  carelessness  they  exhibited,  were 
the  better  liked,  for  their  look  of  a  natural  simplicity.  Yet 
as  proconsul  of  Bithynia  and  soon  afterwards  as  consul, 
he  showed  himself  a  man  of  vigor,  and  equal  to  business. 
Then  falling  back  into  vice  or  affecting  vice,  he  was  chosen 
by  Nero  to  be  one  of  his  few  intimate  associates,  as  a  critic 
in  matters  of  taste,  while  the  emperor  thought  nothing 
charming  or  elegant  in  luxury  unless  Petronius  had  ex- 
pressed to  him  his  approval  of  it.  Hence  jealousy  on  the 
part  of  Tigellinus,  who  looked  on  him  as  a  rival,  and  even 
his  superior  in  the  science  of  pleasure.  And  so  he  worked 
on  the  prince's  cruelty,  which  dominated  every  other  pas- 
sion, chai'ging  Petronius  with  having  been  the  friend  of 
Scaevinus,  bribing  a  slave  to  become  informer,  robbing  him 
of  the  means  of  defence,  and  hurrying  into  prison  the 
greater  part  of  his  domestics. 

"  It  happened  at  the  time  that  the  emperor  was  on  his 
way  to  Campania,  and  that  Petronius,  after  going  as  far  as 
Cumae,  was  detained  there.  He  bore  no  longer  the  sus- 


388  PETRONIUS 

pense  of  fear  or  of  hope.  Yet  he  did  not  fling  away  life 
with  precipitate  haste,  but  having  made  an  incision  in  his 
veins  and  then,  according  to  his  humor,  bound  them  up,  he 
again  opened  them,  while  he  conversed  with  his  friends, 
not  in  a  serious  strain  or  on  topics  that  might  win  for  him 
the  glory  of  courage.  And  he  listened  to  them  as  .they 
repeated,  not  thoughts  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  or  on 
the  theories  of  philosophers,  but  light  poetry  and  playful 
verses.  To  some  of  his  slaves  he  gave  liberal  presents,  a 
flogging  to  others.  He  dined,  indulged  himself  in  sleep, 
that  death,  though  forced  on  him,  might  have  a  natural 
appearance.  Even  in  his  will  he  did  not,  as  did  many 
others  in  their  last  moments,  flatter  Nero  or  Tigellinus  or 
any  other  of  the  men  in  power.  On  the  contrary,  he  de- 
scribed fully  the  prince's  shameful  excesses,  with  the  names 
of  his  male  and  female  companions,  and  their  novelties  in 
debauchery,  and  sent  the  account  under  seal  to  Nero.  Then 
he  broke  his  signet  ring,  that  it  might  not  be  subsequently 
available  for  imperilling  others."  l 

Such  is  the  sketch  which  Tacitus  2  gives  of  the  man  who 
was  in  all  probability  the  author  of  the  Satirae,  of  which 
unfortunately  only  fragments  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth 
books  remain.  The  work,  which  was  for  the  most  part  in 
prose,  contained  an  account  of  the  adventures  of  one  Encol- 
pius  and  his  companions  on  a  journey  in  southern  Italy. 
The  interest  which  it  has  for  us  on  the  literary  side  as  an 
example  of  the  Roman  novel,  and  on  the  linguistic  side 
by  reason  of  its  contribution  to  our  knowledge  of  colloquial 
Latin,  is  still  further  enhanced  by  its  drastic  representa- 
tions of  current  abuses  and  strikingly  realistic  pictures  of 
various  aspects  of  the  social  life  of  the  times. 

1  'I'll'-  translation  is  that  of  Church  and  Brodribb. 

2  Annals,  xvi.,  18,  19. 


AT  TRIMALCHI&S  DINNER  389 

AT  TRIMALCHIO'S  DINNER1 

(Satirae,  41-46.) 

As  his  departure  delivered  us  from  his  usurpation 
of  the  talk,  we  tried  to  draw  our  neighbors  into  con- 
versation. "What  is  a  day?"  cried  Dama,  after 
calling  for  a  larger  glass.  "  Nothing  !  Before  you 
have  time  to  turn  round  it  is  night.  One  should 
therefore  go  straight  from  the  bedroom  to  the  dining- 
room.  And  what  a  regular  freezing  we  have  been 
having  of  late !  I  could  scarcely  get  hot  in  my  bath. 
However,  a  hot  drink  is  as  good  as  a  greatcoat.  I  've 
had  some  stiff  ones,  and  I  am  about  full ;  it  has  got 
into  my  head."  Here  Seleucus  broke  in  with,  "I 
don't  take  a  bath  every  day.  Constant  washing  wears 
out  the  body  as  well  as  the  clothes ;  but  when  I  've 
put  down  my  good  posset  of  mead,  I  can  tell  the  cold 
go  hang.  However,  I  could  not  have  bathed  to-day 
in  any  case,  as  I  had  to  attend  a  funeral.  Poor  Chry- 
santhus,  you  know,  a  nice  fellow,  has  just  slipped  his 
wind.  It  was  only  the  other  day  he  said  how  d'  ye 
do  to  me.  I  can  fancy  I  am  talking  to  him  now. 
Ah,  we  are  only  air  balloons,  summer  flies ;  this  life  's 
a  bubble.  And  it's  not  as  if  he  hadn't  tried  the 
fasting  cure.  For  five  days  neither  bit  nor  sup 
passed  his  lips,  and  yet  he  's  gone.  Too  many  doc- 
tors did  for  him,  or  else  it  was  to  be.  A  doctor's 
really  no  use  except  to  feel  you  did  the  right  thing. 

1  The  longest  extant  section  of  the  Satirae  is  that  which  contains  a 
description  of  a  dinner  party  given  by  Trimalchio,  a  rich  parvenu  of 
the  freedman  class.  This  selection  reproduces  the  conversation  which 
took  place  among  some  of  the  guests,  freedmen  like  Trimalchio,  dur- 
ing a  temporary  absence  of  the  host. 


390  PETRONIUS 

An  excellent  funeral  it  was,  —  superior  bier  and  trap- 
pings, and  the  mourners  first  class."  He  was  becom- 
ing a  bore,  and  Phileros  interrupted  him  with,  "  Oh, 
let  us  leave  the  dead  alone.  He  's  all  right.  He  had 
a  decent  life  and  a  decent  death.  What  has  he  to 
complain  of  ?  He  rose  from  the  gutter,  and  was  once 
so  poor  that  he  would  have  picked  a  farthing  out  of  a 
midden  with  his  teeth.  But  he  grew  like  a  honey- 
comb. I  suppose  he  has  left  behind  him  a  cool  100,- 
000,  and  all  in  hard  cash.  To  speak  the  truth  —  for, 
as  you  know,  I  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve  —  he 
was  a  rough-spoken  fellow,  quarrelsomeness  personi- 
fied. Now  his  brother  was  a  fine,  friendly,  open- 
handed  gentleman,  and  kept  a  good  table.  At  first 
everything  went  ugly  with  him,  but  his  first  vine-crop 
pulled  him  together ;  he  sold  his  wine  for  whatever  he 
chose  to  ask.  But  what  really  kept  his  head  above 
water  was  that  legacy,  when  he  walked  into  a  good 
deal  more  than  was  left  him.  That  was  why  that 
blockhead  Chrysanthus  quarrelled  with  his  own  brother, 
and  left  away  his  money  to  some  Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry. 
It 's  an  ill  turn  when  a  man  turns  his  back  on  his  own. 
He  took  all  his  slaves  told  him  for  gospel,  and  they 
played  the  deuce  with  him.  Credulity  is  fatal,  espe- 
cially for  a  business  man.  However,  he  got  far  more 
than  he  deserved  ;  Fortune's  favorite,  lead  turned  to 
gold  under  his  hands.  And  how  many  years  do  you 
think  he  had  on  his  back?  Seventy  and  more,  I 
should  say.  But  he  was  as  hard  as  nails,  and  carried 
his  age  splendidly,  —  as  black  as  a  crow.  Ah,  I  knew 
him  long,  long  ago,  when  he  did  something  smack, 
something  grow  to.  He  had  a  general  kind  of  taste. 
Well,  he  enjoyed  himself,  and  I  for  one  don't  blame 
him.  It 's  all  he  takes  to  the  grave  with  him." 


AT  TRIMALCHIO'S  DINNER  391 

"  How  you  go  on  talking,"  said  Ganyraedes,  "  about 
what  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  heavens  above  or  the 
earth  beneath,  and  no  one  troubles  his  head  about  the 
supply  of  food.  I  declare  I  could  not  buy  a  mouthful 
of  bread  this  day.  It 's  the  drought,  and  now  we  have 
had  a  year's  fast.  But  luck  to  the  aediles,1  they  have 
an  understanding  with  the  bakers :  '  Scratch  me  and 
I  '11  scratch  you.'  So  it 's  the  folk  in  a  small  way 
bear  the  brunt,  while  the  top-sawyers  have  high  jinks 
all  the  time.  Ah,  if  we  had  the  giants  now  that  we 
had  when  I  came  back  from  Asia !  How  well  I  re- 
member Safinius !  He  lived  near  the  Old  Arch  when 
I  was  a  boy  :  a  regular  pepper-box,  he  'd  knock  sparks 
out  of  the  ground  under  his  feet.  And  so  in  his  time 
food  was  cheap  as  dirt.  You  'd  get  for  an  as  a  loaf 
that  two  men  could  not  eat ;  now  you  get  a  thing  the 
size  of  a  bull's  eye.  Ah,  things  are  going  from  bad 
to  worse  every  day.  This  place  is  growing  downwards 
like  a  cow's  tail.  But  I  'm  hanged  if  I  don't  think  it 
is  all  the  irreligion  of  the  age ;  no  one  fasts  or  cares  a 
jot  for  Jupiter.  Time  was  when  our  ladies  used  to 
go  in  their  robes  with  tossed  hair,  bare  feet,  and  pure 
hearts,  and  pray  for  rain,  and  it  used  to  rain  bucket- 
fuls  at  once,  and  they  all  came  back  like  drowned 
rats.  But  now  we  have  lost  our  religion,  and  the 
fields  are  feeling  the  effect  of  it."  "  Easy,  easy,"  said 
Echion,  a  shoddy  merchant;  "there  are  ups  and 
downs,  as  the  peasant  said  when  he  lost  his  speckled 
pig :  to-morrow  may  bring  what  we  have  n't  to-day,  — 
that 's  the  way  the  world  jogs  along.  There  would  net 
be  a  better  country  than  this  in  the  world,  only  for 
the  men  that  are  in  it.  It  is  in  a  poor  way  now,  but 

1  It  was  one  of  their  duties  to  superintend  the  food  supply. 


392  PETRONIUS 

so  are  others.  We  must  n't  be  too  particular.  The 
sky 's  above  us  all.  If  you  lived  somewhere  else,  you 
would  say  that  here  the  pigs  were  going  about  ready 
to  roast,  crying,  *  Who  '11  eat  me.? ' ' 

R.  Y. 


MARTIAL 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

BORN  at  Bilbilis,  a  town  in  the  province  of  Tarraconen- 
sis  in  Spain,  Martial  came  to  Rome  in  64  A.  n.,  when  he 
was  about  twenty  years  of  age.  Throughout  the  whole 
period  of  his  residence  in  the  capital  he  was  a  client,  one 
of  that  numerous  class  of  needy  dependents  who  relied  for 
their  support  solely  upon  the  generosity  of  their  patrons. 
It  was  not  at  any  time  a  position  of  dignity,  hut  in  the  case 
of  Martial,  who  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  the  patronage 
of  rich  and  influential  citizens,  it  carried  with  it  a  fair 
competence,  and  afforded  him  boundless  opportunities  for 
coming  in  contact  with  those  sides  of  Roman  life  which 
furnished  the  best  material  for  the  pen  of  the  epigramma- 
tist. 

The  Liber  Spectaculorum,  a  collection  of  pieces  on  shows 
given  mostly  in  the  Flavian  Amphitheatre,  twelve  books 
of  Epigrams,  and  two  books  of  Xenia  and  Apophoreta, 
distichs  intended  to  accompany  presents  such  as  were 
exchanged  on  the  Saturnalia,  make  up  the  list  of  Martial's 
extant  works.  In  the  Epigrams,  which  are  the  poet's  most 
important  contribution  to  Latin  literature,  we  find  a  great 
variety  of  subjects.  It  was  the  field  that  he  made  pecu- 
liarly his  own,  and  he  worked  in  it  with  such  success  that 
from  his  time  down  to  the  present  day  his  name  has  been 
identified  with  the  Epigram  as  a  literary  type.  When  we 
attempt  to  select  individual  pictures  from  the  long  gal- 
lery which  he  has  left  us,  we  find  ourselves  confronted  by 
an  embarrassment  of  riches.  He  had  a  quick  eye  for  the 


394  MARTIAL 

weaknesses  of  his  fellows,  and  was  merciless  in  attacking 
the  hypocrisies  and  foibles  of  the  age.  His  was  not,  in- 
deed, the  standpoint  of  outraged  morality,  for  many  of  his 
poems  are  marked  by  gross  adulation  and  still  grosser 
obscenity ;  but  without  making  any  pretences  himself,  he 
regarded  the  different  types  of  character  he  saw  around 
him  as  fair  marks  for  his  satire :  Selius,  who  patrols  the 
whole  town  in  the  hope  of  meeting  some  one  who  will  invite 
him  to  dinner  (II.,  14)  ;  Tongilius,  who  pretends  to  be 
ill  in  order  to  obtain  presents  of  wine  and  food  (II.,  40)  ; 
Diaulus,  who  hit  upon  the  lucrative  combination  of  being  at 
once  physician  and  undertaker  (I.,  47)  ;  Symmachus,  who, 
going  out  with  a  retinue  of  medical  students  to  visit  a 
patient,  found  him  without  a  fever  but  left  him  with  one 
(V.,  9).  These  are  a  few  examples  chosen  at  random  from 
a  long  list. 

The  greater  part  of  Martial's  work  was  done  during  the 
reign  of  Domitian,  who  showed  him  some  signs  of  favor. 
After  the  death  of  the  tyrant  he  seems  to  have  found  the 
atmosphere  at  Rome  less  congenial,  and  a  few  years  later, 
early  in  Trajan's  reign,  he  retired  to  Bilbilis,  where  he 
died  about  104  A.  D. 


A  FRIEND 

(Epigrams,  I.,  39.) 

Is  there  a  man  whose  friendship  rare 
With  antique  friendship  may  compare, 
In  learning  steeped,  both  old  and  new, 
Yet  unpedantic,  simple,  true  ; 
Whose  soul,  ingenuous  and  upright, 
Ne'er  formed  a  wish  that  shunned  the  light, 
Wrhose  sense  is  sound  ?     If  such  there  be, 
My  Decianus,  thou  art  he. 

GOLDWIN  SMITH. 


A    LITERARY   HOST  395 

THE  DINER-OUT 

(Epigrams,  II.,  11.) 

BEHOLD,  on  Selius'  brow,  how  dark  the  shade ; 
How  late  he  roams  beneath  the  colonnade ; 
How  his  grim  face  betrays  some  secret  wound ; 
How  with  his  nose  he  almost  scrapes  the  ground ; 
He  beats  his  breast,  he  rends  his  hair.     What  now  ? 
Has  Selius  lost  a  friend,  or  brother  ?     No ! 
His  brace  of  sons  still  live,  long  be  their  life ! 
Safe  are  his  slaves,  his  chattels,  and  his  wife ; 
His  steward's,  his  bailiff's  books  are  right  —  what  doom 
So  dire  has  fallen  on  him  ?     He  dines  at  home ! 

GOLDWIN  SMTTH. 

A   LITERARY   HOST1 

(Epigrams,  m.,  50.)  *<£»     fij 

THE  single  cause  why  you  invite 
Is  that  your  works  you  may  recite. 
I  hardly  had  my  slippers 2  dropped, 
Nor  dream'd  the  entertainment  stopp'd, 
When,  'mid  the  lettuces  and  salad, 
Is  usher'd  in  a  bloody  ballad, 
Then,  lo !  another  bunch  of  lays, 
While  yet  the  primal  service  stays. 
Another,  ere  the  second  course ; 
A  third,  and  fourth,  and  fifth  you  force. 
The  boar,  beroasted  now  to  rags, 
Appears  in  vain  :  the  stomach  flags. 

1  The  epigram  is  addressed  to  one  Ligurinns,  who  gave  a  dinner 
party  for  the  sole  purpose  of  reading  his  poems  to  the  guests. 

2  The  Romans  used  to  have  their  sandals  taken  off  on  reclining  at 
table. 


396  MARTIAL 

The  labors,1  that  destroy  each  dish, 
Were  useful  coats  for  frying  fish. 
Affirm,  my  Bard,  this  dire  decree  : 
Else  you  shall  sup  alone  for  me. 

JAMES  ELPHINSTON. 


A  ROMAN  DAY 
(Epigrams,  IV.,  8.) 

VISITS  2  consume  the  first,  the  second  hour ; 

When  comes  the  third,  hoarse  pleaders3  show  their 

power. 

At  four  to  business  Rome  herself  betakes ; 
At  six  she  goes  to  sleep  ; 4  by  seven  she  wakes. 
By  nine,  well  breathed  from  exercise,  we  rest, 
And  in  the  banquet  hall  the  couch  is  pressed. 
Now,  when  thy  skill,  greatest  of  cooks,  has  spread 
The  ambrosial  feast,  let  Martial's  rhymes  be  read, 
With  mighty  hand  while  Caesar  6  holds  the  bowl, 
When  draughts  of  nectar  have  relaxed  his  soul. 
Now  trifles  pass.     My  giddy  Muse  would  fear 
Jove  to  approach  in  morning  mood  severe. 

GOLDWIN  SMITH. 

THE  TRUE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE 

(Epigrams,  V.,  20.) 

O  COULD  both  thou  and  I,  my  friend, 
From  care  and  trouble  freed, 

1  The  manuscripts  of  the  poems  would  have  been  more  useful  as 
•wrappers  for  fish. 

2  It  was  customary  for  clients  to  assemble  at  their  patron's  house 
for  the  salutatio  early  in  the  morning. 

8  In  the  law-courts. 

*  The  siesta  was  universal. 

6  The  Emperor  Domitian. 


A    JUGGLER  397 

Our  quiet  days  at  pleasure  spend 
And  taste  of  life  indeed, 

We  'd  bid  farewell  to  marble  halls, 

The  sad  abodes  of  state, 
The  law,  with  all  its  dismal  brawls, 

The  trappings  of  the  great ; 

We  'd  seek  the  book,  the  cheerful  talk, 

At  noonday  in  the  shade, 
The  bath,  the  ride,  the  pleasant  walk 

In  the  cool  colonnade. 

Dead  to  our  better  selves  we  see 

The  golden  hours  take  flight, 
Still  scored  against  us  as  they  flee, 

Then  haste  to  live  aright. 

GoLDwnr  SMITH. 


A  JUGGLER 

(Epigrams,  IX.,  38.) 

LITTLE,  nimble  Agathine, 
What  consummate  art  is  thine ! 
Play  thy  postures,  one  and  all ; 
Never  will  the  target l  fall. 
Thee  it  follows  everywhere : 
Swooping  through  the  easy  air, 
To  thy  hand  or  foot  it  flies, 
On  thy  back  or  shoulder  lies. 
Slipp'ry  footing  proves  no  dread, 
Though  the  shower  Corycian 2  shed  ; 

1  Shield. 

2  The  stage  was  sprinkled  with  saffron  from  Corycus  in  Cilicia. 


398  MARTIAL 

Though  the  rapid  southern  gales 
Strive  to  rend  theatric  veils.1 
Still  secure,  the  careless  boy 
Flings  from  limb  to  limb  the  toy ; 
And  the  artist  well  may  brave 
All  the  force  of  wind  and  wave. 
Little,  dextrous  Agathine 
To  eschew  should'st  thou  incline, 
Poor  thy  chance,  alone  of  this : 
Who  still  hits  can  never  miss. 
Thou  must  change  thy  postures  all ; 
Else  the  target  ne'er  will  fall. 

JAMBS  ELPHINSTON. 


DEATH   OF  A   CHARIOTEER 
(Epigrams,  X.,  50.) 

LET  Victory,  sorrowing,  cast  her  palm  away, 
Let  Favor  beat  her  breast  and  wail  the  day, 
Let  Honor  don  the  mourner's  dark  attire, 
And  Glory  fling  her  wreath  upon  the  pyre. 
Snatched  in  his  prime,  Scorpus,  sad  thought !  must  go 
To  yoke  night's  horses  in  the  realm  below. 
Swift  flew  the  chariot,  soon  the  goal  was  won, 
Another  race  thou  hast  too  quickly  run. 

GOLDWIN  SMITH. 
1  The  awning  which  protected  the  spectators  from  the  son. 


TACITUS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

LITTLE  or  nothing  is  known  about  the  early  life  of  Tacitus. 
The  year  of  his  birth  can  only  be  approximately  given  as 
54  A.  D.,  and  the  assertion  sometimes  made  that  Interamna 
in  Umbria  was  his  birthplace  rests  on  extremely  unsubstan- 
tial evidence.  It  is  quite  possible  that  he  was  born  at  Rome, 
and  we  know  for  certain  that  he  studied  rhetoric  there.  It 
has  been  suggested  that  possibly  the  Cornelius  Tacitus  men- 
tioned by  the  elder  Pliny  as  procurator  of  Belgic  Gaul  was 
the  historian's  father,  but  there  is  no  proof  of  this,  and  the 
details  of  his  family  relations  are  unknown  to  us,  except  the 
fact  that  in  78  he  married  the  daughter  of  Julius  Agricola, 
the  famous  governor  of  Britain. 

Tacitus'  career  was  at  first  pursued  along  political  lines. 
He  held  some  minor  office  under  Vespasian,  was  quaestor 
under  Titus,  and  praetor  under  Domitian.  After  his  praetor- 
ship  (88  A.  D.),  he  was  absent  from  Rome  for  some  years, 
possibly  serving  as  propraetor  of  Belgic  Gaul.  He  returned 
in  93,  the  year  of  Agricola's  death,  but  does  not  seem  to 
have  taken  any  part  in  public  life  during  the  remainder 
of  Domitian's  reign.  In  97,  under  Nerva,  he  was  made  con- 
sul. A  few  years  later  we  hear  of  him  as  associated  with 
his  friend  the  younger  Pliny  in  the  indictment  of  Marius 
Priscus  for  extortion  in  the  province  of  Africa.  After 
this  he  retired,  and  devoted  himself  exclusively  to  his 
literary  and  historical  pursuits.  His  death  probably  took 
place  about  116  A.  D. 

His  first  literary  work  was  the  Dialogus  de  Oratoribus,  a 


400  TACITUS 

charming  little  dialogue  on  the  decline  of  oratory  under  the 
empire.  The  style,  which  differs  in  a  striking  manner  from 
that  of  his  other  works,  shows  many  signs  of  Ciceronian 
influence.  In  the  Agricola  and  Germania^  also  of  small 
compass,  we  see  Tacitus  tending  in  the  direction  of  historio- 
graphy, the  field  to  which  he  afterwards  confined  himself. 
Yet  neither  of  these  monographs  is,  strictly  speaking,  an  his- 
torical work.  The  Agricola  is  an  example  of  encomiastic 
biography,  in  which  the  historical  form  is  adopted  only  to 
give  the  encomiastic  element  greater  effectiveness ;  while 
the  Germania,  formally  and  primarily  an  ethnographical 
treatise,  seems  from  its  idealization  of  the  simplicity  and 
virtue  of  the  northern  people  to  indicate  some  desire  on 
the  part  of  the  author  to  reflect  upon  the  deterioration  of 
morals  among  the  Romans. 

Of  much  wider  scope  are  the  two  great  historical  works, 
the  Historiae  and  the  Annales.  The  former,  which  in  all 
probability  originally  consisted  of  fourteen  books,  was  a  his- 
tory of  the  empire  from  69  A.  D.  to  the  death  of  Domitian. 
Of  this  only  the  first  four  books  and  a  part  of  the  fifth  have 
survived,  containing  an  account  of  69  and  70,  the  crowded 
years  that  saw  the  reigns  of  Galba,  Otho,  and  Vitellius,  and 
the  triumph  of  the  Flavians.  The  Annales  (there  were 
sixteen  books  in  all,  but  the  central  portion  of  the  work  is 
lost)  dealt  with  the  period  from  the  death  of  Augustus  in 
14  A.  D.  to  the  fall  of  Nero.  It  is  the  author's  masterpiece : 
of  prime  importance,  historically,  for  its  masterly  descrip- 
tions of  political  situations,  and  its  subtle  analysis  of  the 
characters  of  the  great  personages  of  the  early  empire ;  of 
rare  stylistic  effectiveness  from  its  wonderful  compression, 
the  infinite  variety  shown  in  the  structure  of  clause  and 
period,  and  the  skillful  use  of  poetic  word  and  phrase. 


CUSTOMS  OF  THE  GERMANS  401 

CUSTOMS  OF  THE  GERMANS1 

(Germania,  XVI. -XXVII.) 

THE  Germans,  it  is  well  known,  have  no  regular 
cities  ;  nor  do  they  allow  a  continuity  of  houses.  They 
dwell  in  separate  habitations,  dispersed  up  and  down 
as  a  grove,  a  meadow,  or  a  fountain  happens  to  invite. 
They  have  villages,  but  not  with  a  series  of  connected 
buildings.  Every  tenement  stands  detached,  with  a 
vacant  piece  of  ground  round  it,  either  to  prevent 
accidents  by  fire,  or  for  want  of  skill  in  the  art  of 
building.  They  do  not  know  the  use  of  mortar  or 
of  tiles.  They  build  with  rude  materials,  regardless 
of  beauty,  order,  and  proportion.  Particular  parts 
are  covered  over  with  a  kind  of  earth  so  smooth  and 
shining  that  the  natural  veins  have  some  resemblance 
to  the  lights  and  shades  of  painting.  Besides  these  hab- 
itations they  have  a  number  of  subterranean  caves, 
dug  by  their  own  labor  and  carefully  covered  over 
with  dung :  in  winter  their  retreat  from  cold  and  the 
repository  of  their  corn.  In  those  recesses  they  not 
only  find  a  shelter  from  the  rigor  of  the  season,  but  in 
times  of  foreign  invasion  their  effects  are  safely  con- 
cealed. The  enemy  lays  waste  the  open  country,  but 
the  hidden  treasure  escapes  the  general  ravage ;  safe 
in  its  obscurity,  or  because  the  search  would  be  at- 
tended with  too  much  trouble. 

The  clothing  in  use  is  a  loose  mantle,  made  fast 
with  a  clasp,  or,  when  that  cannot  be  had,  with  a 
thorn.  With  only  this  on  they  loiter  away  whole  days 
by  the  fire-side.  The  rich  wear  a  more  pretentious 

1  Tliis  and  the  following  selections  are  from  the  translation  of 
Arthur  Murphy. 


402  TACITUS 

garment,  not  however  displayed  and  flowing  like  the 
Parthians  or  the  people  of  Sarmatia,  but  drawn  so 
tight  that  the  form  of  the  limbs  is  palpably  expressed. 
The  skins  of  wild  animals  are  also  much  in  use. 
Near  the  frontier,  on  the  borders  of  the  Rhine,  the 
inhabitants  wear  them,  but  are  wholly  indifferent  as 
to  the  choice.  The  people  who  live  in  the  more  re- 
mote regions  near  the  northern  seas,  and  who  have 
not  acquired  by  commerce  a  taste  for  new-fashioned 
apparel,  are  more  careful  in  their  selection.  They 
choose  particular  beasts,  and  having  stripped  off  the 
furs  clothe  themselves  with  the  spoil,  decorated  with 
parti-colored  spots,  or  fragments  taken  from  the  skins 
of  fish  that  swim  the  ocean  as  yet  unexplored  by 
the  Romans.  In  point  of  dress  there  is  no  distinction 
between  the  sexes,  except  that  the  garment  of  the 
women  is  frequently  made  of  linen,  adorned  with 
purple  spots,  but  without  sleeves,  leaving  the  arms 
and  part  of  the  bosom  uncovered. 

Marriage  is  considered  as  a  strict  and  sacred  insti- 
tution. In  the  national  character  there  is  nothing  so 
truly  commendable.  To  be  contented  with  one  wife  is 
peculiar  to  the  Germans.  They  differ  in  this  respect 
from  all  other  savage  nations.  There  are  indeed  a 
few  instances  of  polygamy  ;  not  however  the  effect  of 
loose  desire,  but  occasioned  by  the  ambition  of  various 
families,  who  court  the  alliance  of  a  chief  distinguished 
by  the  nobility  of  his  rank  and  character.  The  bride 
brings  no  portion^  but  receives  a  dowry  from  her  hus- 
band. In  the  presence  of  her  parents  and  relations 
he  makes  a  tender  of  part  of  his  wealth  ;  if  accepted, 
the  match  is  approved.  In  the  choice  of  the  presents 
female  vanity  is  not  consulted.  There  are  no  frivo- 
lous trinkets  to  adorn  the  future  bride.  The  whole 


CUSTOMS  OF  THE  GERMANS  403 

fortune  consists  of  oxen,  a  caparisoned  horse,  a  shield, 
a  spear,  and  a  sword.  She  in  return  delivers  a  pre- 
sent of  arms,  and  by  this  exchange  of  gifts  the  mar- 
riage is  concluded.  This  is  the  nuptial  ceremony  ; 
this  the  bond  of  union ;  these  their  hymeneal  gods. 
Lest  the  wife  should  think  that  her  sex  exempts  her 
from  the  rigor  of  the  severest  virtue  and  the  toils  of 
war,  she  is  informed  of  her  duty  by  the  marriage  cere- 
mony ;  and  thence  she  learns  that  she  is  received  by 
her  husband  to  be  his  partner  in  toil  and  danger,  to 
dare  with  him  in  war,  and  suffer  with  him  in  peace. 
The  oxen  yoked,  the  horse  accoutred,  and  the  arms 
given  on  the  occasion  inculcate  this  lesson ;  and 
thus  she  is  prepared  to  live,  and  thus  to  die.  These 
are  the  terms  of  their  union :  she  receives  her  armor 
as  a  sacred  treasure,  to  be  preserved  inviolate,  and 
transmitted  with  honor  to  her  sons,  a  portion  for 
their  wives,  and  from  them  going  down  to  her  grand- 
children. 

In  consequence  of  these  manners  the  married  state 
is  a  life  of  affection  and  female  constancy.  The  virtue 
of  the  woman  is  guarded  from  seduction :  no  public 
spectacles  to  seduce  her,  no  banquets  to  inflame  her 
passions,  no  baits  of  pleasure  to  disarm  her  virtue. 
The  art  of  intriguing  by  clandestine  letters  is  un- 
known to  both  sexes.  Populous  as  the  country  is, 
adultery  is  rarely  heard  of  ;  when  detected,  the  pun- 
ishment is  instant,  and  inflicted  by  the  husband.  He 
cuts  off  the  hair  of  his  guilty  wife,  and  having  assem- 
bled her  relations  expels  her  naked  from  his  house, 
pursuing  her  with  stripes  through  the  village.  To 
public  loss  of  honor  no  favor  is  shown.  She  may  pos- 
sess beauty,  youth,  and  riches ;  but  a  husband  she  can 
never  obtain.  Vice  is  not  treated  by  the  Germans 


404  TACITUS 

as  a  subject  of  raillery,  nor  is  the  profligacy  of  cor- 
rupting and  being  corrupted  called  the  fashion  of  the 
age.  By  the.  practice  of  some  states,1  female  virtue  is 
advanced  to  still  higher  perfection :  with  them  none 
but  virgins  marry.  When  the  bride  has  fixed  her 
choice,  her  hopes  of  matrimony  are  closed  for  life. 
With  one  husband,  as  with  one  life,  one  mind,  one 
body,  every  woman  is  satisfied.  In  him  her  happiness 
is  centred,  her  desires  find  their  limit,  and  the  result 
is  not  only  affection  for  the  husband's  person,  but 
reverence  for  the  married  state.  To  set  limits  to 
population  by  rearing  up  only  a  certain  number  of 
children,  and  destroying  the  rest,  is  accounted  a  flagi- 
tious crime.  Among  the  savages  of  Germany  virtu- 
ous manners  operate  more  than  good  laws  in  other 
countries. 

In  every  family  the  children  are  reared  in  filth. 
They  run  about  naked,  and  in  time  grow  up  to  that 
strength  and  size  of  limb  which  we  behold  with  won- 
der. The  infant  is  nourished  at  the  mother's  breast, 
not  turned  over  to  nurses  and  to  servants.  No  distinc- 
tion is  made  between  the  future  chieftain  and  the  in- 
fant son  of  a  common  slave.  On  the  same  ground  and 
mixed  with  the  same  cattle  they  pass  their  days,  till 
the  age  of  manhood  draws  the  line  of  separation,  and 
early  valor  shows  the  person  of  free  birth.  It  is  gen- 
erally late  before  their  young  men  come  to  manhood, 
nor  are  the  virgins  married  too  soon.  Both  parties 
wait  to  attain  their  full  growth.  In  due  time  the 
match  is  made,  and  the  children  of  the  marriage  have 
the  constitution  of  their  parents.  The  uncle  by  the 
mother's  side  regards  his  nephews  with  an  affection 
not  at  all  inferior  to  that  of  their  father.  With  some 

1  /.  e.  Qerman  states. 


CUSTOMS  OF  THE  GERMANS  405 

the  relation  of  the  sister's  children  to  their  maternal 
uncle  is  held  to  be  the  strongest  tie  of  consanguinity, 
so  that  in  demanding  hostages  that  line  of  kindred  is 
preferred  as  the  most  endearing  objects  of  the  family 
and,  consequently,  the  most  tender  pledges.  The  son 
is  always  heir  to  his  father.  Last  wills  and  testa- 
ments are  not  in  use.  In  case  of  failure  of  issue,  the 
brothers  of  the  deceased  are  next  in  succession,  or  else 
the  paternal  or  maternal  uncles.  A  numerous  train 
of  relations  is  the  comfort  and  honor  of  old  age.  To 
live  without  raising  heirs  to  yourself  is  no  advantage 
in  Germany. 

To  adopt  the  quarrels  as  well  as  the  friendships  of 
your  parents  and  relations  is  held  to  be  an  indispen- 
sable duty.  In  their  resentments,  however,  they  are  not 
implacable.  Injuries  are  adjusted  by  a  settled  measure 
of  compensation.  Atonement  is  made  for  homicide 
by  a  certain  number  of  cattle,  and  by  that  satisfaction 
the  whole  family  is  appeased  ;  a  happy  regulation 
and  conducive  to  the  public  interest,  since  it  serves 
to  curb  that  spirit  of  revenge  which  is  the  natural 
result  of  liberty  in  the  excess.  Hospitality  and  con- 
vivial pleasure  are  nowhere  else  so  liberally  enjoyed. 
To  refuse  admittance  to  a  guest  were  an  outrage 
against  humanity.  The  master  of  the  house  wel- 
comes every  stranger,  and  regales  him  to  the  best  of 
his  ability.  If  his  stock  falls  short,  he  becomes  a 
visitor  to  his  neighbor,  and  conducts  his  new  acquaint- 
ance to  a  more  plentiful  table.  They  do  not  wait  to 
be  invited,  nor  is  this  of  any  consequence,  since  a 
cordial  reception  is  always  certain.  Between  an  inti- 
mate and  an  entire  stranger  no  distinction  is  made. 
The  law  of  hospitality  is  the  same.  The  departing 
guest  receives  as  a  present  whatever  he  desires,  and 


406  TACITUS 

the  host  retaliates  by  asking  with  the  same  freedom. 
A  German  delights  in  the  gifts  which  he  receives,  yet 
by  bestowing  he  imputes  nothing  to  you  as  a  favor, 
and  for  what  he  receives  he  acknowledges  no  obliga- 
tion. 

In  this  manner  the  Germans  pride  themselves  on 
their  frankness  and  generosity.  Their  hours  of  rest 
are  protracted  to  broad  daylight.  As  soon  as  they  rise, 
they  bathe,  generally,  on  account  of  the  intense  sever- 
ity of  the  climate,  in  warm  water.  They  then  betake 
themselves  to  their  meal,  each  on  a  separate  seat  and 
at  his  own  table.  Having  finished  their  repast  they 
proceed  completely  armed  to  the  despatch  of  busi- 
ness, and  frequently  to  a  convivial  meeting.  To  de- 
vote both  day  and  night  to  deep  drinking  is  a  disgrace 
to  no  man.  Disputes,  as  will  be  the  case  with  people 
in  liquor,  frequently  arise,  and  are  seldom  confined 
to  opprobrious  language.  The  quarrel  generally  ends 
in  a  scene  of  blood.  Important  subjects,  such  as  the 
reconciliation  of  enemies,  the  forming  of  family  alli- 
ances, the  election  of  chiefs,  and  even  peace  and  war, 
are  generally  canvassed  in  their  carousing  festivals. 
The  convivial  moment,  according  to  their  notion,  is 
the  true  season  for  business,  when  the  mind  opens 
itself  in  plain  simplicity,  or  grows  warm  with  bold 
and  noble  ideas.  Strangers  to  artifice  and  knowing 
no  refinement,  they  tell  their  sentiments  without  dis- 
guise. The  pleasure  of  the  table  expands  their  hearts 
and  calls  forth  every  secret.  On  the  following  day 
the  subject  of  debate  is  again  taken  into  considera- 
tion, and  thus  two  different  periods  of  time  have  their 
distinct  uses :  when  warm,  they  debate ;  when  cool, 
they  decide. 

Their  beverage  is  a  liquor  drawn  from  barley  or 


CUSTOMS  OF  THE  GERMANS  407 

from  wheat,  and,  like  the  juice  of  the  grape,  fermented 
to  a  spirit.  The  settlers  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine 
provide  themselves  with  wine.  Their  food  is  of  the 
simplest  kind  :  wild  apples,  the  flesh  of  an  animal  re- 
cently killed,  or  coagulated  milk.  Without  skill  in 
cookery,  or  without  seasoning  to  stimulate  the  palate, 
they  eat  to  satisfy  nature.  But  they  do  not  drink 
merely  to  quench  their  thirst.  Indulge  their  love  of 
liquor  to  the  excess  which  they  require,  and  you  need 
not  employ  the  terror  of  your  arms ;  their  own  vices 
will  subdue  them. 

Their  public  spectacles  boast  of  no  variety.  They 
have  but  one  sort,  and  that  they  repeat  at  all  their 
meetings.  A  band  of  young  men  make  it  their  pas- 
time to  dance  entirely  naked  amidst  pointed  swords 
and  javelins.  By  constant  exercise  this  kind  of  exhi- 
bition has  become  an  art,  and  art  has  taught  them  to 
perform  with  grace  and  elegance.  Their  talents,  how- 
ever, are  not  let  out  for  hire.  Though  some  danger 
attends  the  practice,  the  pleasure  of  the  spectator  is 
their  only  recompense.  In  the  character  of  a  German 
there  is  nothing  so  remarkable  as  his  passion  for  play. 
Without  the  excuse  of -liquor,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
in  their  cool  and  sober  moments  they  have  recourse  to 
dice,  as  to  a  serious  and  regular  business,  with  the 
most  desperate  spirit  committing  their  whole  substance 
to  chance,  and  when  they  have  lost  their  all,  putting 
their  liberty  and  even  their  persons  on  the  last  haz- 
ard of  the  die !  The  loser  yields  himself  to  slavery. 
Young,  robust,  and  valiant,  he  submits  to  be  chained, 
and  even  exposed  to  sale.  Such  is  the  effect  of  a  ruin- 
ous and  inveterate  habit.  They  are  victims  to  folly, 
and  they  call  themselves  men  of  honor.  The  winner 
is  always  in  a  hurry  to  barter  away  the  slaves  acquired 


408  TACITUS 

by  success  at  play ;  he  is  ashamed  of  his  victory,  and 
therefore  puts  away  the  remembrance  of  it  as  soon  as 
possible. 

The  slaves  in  general  are  not  arranged  at  their 
several  employments  in  the  household  affairs,  as  is  the 
practice  at  Rome.  Each  has  his  separate  habitation, 
and  his  own  establishment  to  manage.  The  master 
considers  him  as  an  agrarian  dependent,  who  is  obliged 
to  furnish  a  certain  quantity  of  grain,  cattle,  or  wear- 
ing apparel.  The  slave  obeys,  and  the  state  of  ser- 
vitude extends  no  further.  All  domestic  affairs  are 
managed  by  the  master's  wife  and  children.  To  pun- 
ish a  slave  with  stripes,  to  load  him  with  chains  or 
condemn  him  to  hard  labor  is  unusual.  It  is  true 
that  slaves  are  sometimes  put  to  death,  not  under  color 
of  justice,  or  of  any  authority  vested  in  the  master, 
but  in  transport  of  passion,  in  a  fit  of  rage,  as  is 
often  the  case  in  a  sudden  affray ;  but  it  is  also  true 
that  this  species  of  homicide  passes  with  impunity. 
The  freedmen  are  not  of  much  higher  consideration 
than  the  actual  slaves ;  they  obtain  no  rank  in  the 
master's  family,  and,  if  we  except  the  parts  of  Ger- 
many where  monarchy  is  established,  they  never  figure 
on  the  stage  of  public  business.  In  despotic  govern- 
ments they  rise  above  the  men  of  ingenuous  birth,  and 
even  eclipse  the  whole  body  of  the  nobles.  In  other 
states  the  subordination  of  the  freedmen  is  a  proof  of 
public  liberty. 

The  practice  of  placing  money  at  interest  and  reap- 
ing the  profits  of  usury  is  unknown  in  Germany  ;  and 
that  happy  ignorance  is  a  better  preventive  of  the  evil 
than  a  code  of  prohibitory  laws.  In  cultivating  the 
soil  they  do  not  settle  on  one  spot,  but  shift  from 
place  to  place.  The  state  or  community  takes  posses- 


CUSTOMS  OF  THE  GERMANS  409 

sion  of  a  certain  tract  proportioned  to  its  number  of 
hands  ;  allotments  are  afterwards  made  to  individuals 
according  to  their  rank  and  dignity.  In  so  extensive 
a  country,  where  there  is  no  want  of  land,  the  parti- 
tion is  easily  made.  The  ground  tilled  in  one  year 
lies  fallow  the  next,  and  a  sufficient  quantity  always 
remains,  the  labor  of  the  people  being  by  no  means 
adequate  to  the  extent  or  fertility  of  the  soil.  Nor 
have  they  the  skill  to  make  orchard  plantations,  to  en- 
close the  meadow  grounds,  or  to  lay  out  and  water 
gardens.  From  the  earth  they  demand  nothing  but 
grain.  Hence  their  year  is  not,  as  with  the  Romans, 
divided  into  four  seasons.  They  have  distinct  ideas 
of  winter,  spring,  and  summer,  and  their  language  has 
terms  for  each ;  but  they  neither  know  the  blessings 
nor  the  name  of  autumn. 

Their  funerals  have  neither  pomp  nor  vain  ambition. 
When  the  bodies  of  illustrious  men  are  to  be  burned, 
they  choose  a  particular  kind  of  wood  for  the  purpose, 
and  have  no  other  attention.  The  funeral  pile  is 
neither  strewed  with  garments  nor  enriched  with  fra- 
grant spices.  The  arms  of  the  deceased  are  committed 
to  the  flames,  and  sometimes  his  horse.  A  mound  of 
turf  is  raised  to  his  memory  ;  and  this,  in  their  opin- 
ion, is  a  better  sepulchre  than  those  structures  of  la- 
bored grandeur  which  display  the  weakness  of  human 
vanity,  and  are  at  best  a  burden  to  the  dead.  Tears 
and  lamentations  are  soon  at  an  end,  but  their  regret 
does  not  so  easily  wear  away.  To  grieve  for  the  de- 
parted is  comely  in  the  softer  sex.  The  women  weep 
for  their  friends  :  the  men  remember  them. 


410  TACITUS 

THE  MUTINY  OF  THE  PANNONIAN  LEGIONS1 

(Annales,  L,  16-30.) 

SUCH  was  the  situation  of  affairs  at  Rome  when  a 
fierce  and  violent  mutiny  broke  out  among  the  legions 
in  Pannonia.  For  this  insurrection  there  was  no  other 
motive  than  the  licentious  spirit  which  is  apt  to  show 
itself  in  the  beginning  of  a  new  reign,  and  the  hope 
of  private  advantage  in  the  distractions  of  a  civil  war. 
A  summer  camp  had  been  formed  for  three  legions 2 
under  the  command  of  Junius  Blaesus.  The  death  of 
Augustus  and  the  accession  of  Tiberius  being  known 
to  the  army,  the  general  granted  a  suspension  of  mili- 
tary duty  as  an  interval  of  grief  or  joy.  The  soldiers 
grew  wanton  in  idleness  ;  dissensions  spread  amongst 
them  ;  the  vile  and  profligate  had  their  circles  of  audi- 
tors ;  sloth  and  pleasure  prevailed ;  and  all  were  will- 
ing to  exchange  a  life  of  toil  and  discipline  for  repose 
and  luxury.  There  happened  to  be  in  a  camp  a  busy 
incendiary,  by  name  Percennius,  formerly  a  leader  of 
theatrical  factions,3  and  now  a  common  soldier ;  a  man 
fluent  in  words,  and  by  his  early  habits  versed  in  the 
arts  of  exciting  tumults  and  sedition.  Over  the  weak 
and  ignorant,  and  such  as  felt  their  minds  alarmed 
with  doubts  and  fears  about  the  future  condition  of 
the  service,  this  meddlesome  fellow  began  to  exert  his 

1  Pannonia,  which  lay  between  the  Danube  and  the  Alps,  had  been 
organized  as  a  province  in  the  reign  of  Augustus.     There  were  three 
Roman  legions  posted  there.    The  mutiny  took  place  just  after  Tibe- 
rius' accession,  14  A.  D. 

2  The  strength  of  a  legion  was  from  5000  to  6000  men.     It  was 
commanded  by  a  legatug,  under  whom  were  the  tribunes,  six  in  num- 
ber, and  under  them  the  centurions. 

8  A  leader  of  claqueurs  in  the  theatre. 


MUTINY  OF  THE  PANNONIAN  LEGIONS     411 

influence.  In  the  dead  of  the  night  he  mixed  in  cabals, 
and  never  failed  at  the  close  of  day,  when  the  sober 
and  well  disposed  retired  to  their  tents,  to  draw  to- 
gether the  idle  and  most  abandoned.  Having  gained 
a  number  of  proselytes,  he  stood  forth  the  orator  of 
sedition,  and  harangued  his  confederates  in  the  follow- 
ing manner :  — 

"  How  long,  my  fellow-soldiers,  must  we  obey  a 
small  and  despicable  set  of  centurions?  How  long 
continue  slaves  to  a  wretched  band  of  military  trib- 
unes ?  If  we  mean  to  redress  our  grievances,  what 
time  so  fit  as  the  present,  when  the  new  emperor  is 
not  yet  settled  on  the  throne  ?  Relief  may  now  be 
obtained,  either  by  remonstrances,  or  sword  in  hand. 
By  our  passive  spirit  we  have  suffered  enough;  we 
have  been  slaves  in  thirty  or  forty  campaigns  ;  we  are 
grown  gray  in  the  service,  worn  out  with  infirmities 
and  covered  with  wounds.  In  that  condition  we  are 
still  condemned  to  the  toils  of  war.  Even  the  men 
who  have  obtained  their  discharge  still  follow  the 
standard  under  the  name  of  veterans :  another  word 
for  protracted  misery.  A  few,  indeed,  by  their  bodily 
vigor  have  surmounted  all  their  labors ;  but  what  is 
their  reward?  They  are  sent  to  distant  regions, 
and,  under  color  of  an  allotment  of  lands,  are  settled 
on  a  barren  mountain  or  a  swampy  fen.  War  of 
itself  is  a  state  of  the  vilest  drudgery  without  an 
adequate  compensation.  The  life  and  limb  of  a  soldier 
are  valued  at  ten  asses *  a  day :  out  of  that  wretched 
pittance  he  must  find  his  clothing,  his  tent  equipage, 
and  his  arms  ;  with  that  fund  he  must  bribe  the  cen- 
turion ;  with  that  must  purchase  occasional  exemptions 
from  service  ;  and  with  that  must  pay  for  a  remission 
1  The  as  at  this  time  was  worth  about  a  cent. 


412  TACITUS 

of  punishment.  But  blows  and  stripes  from  our  officers, 
wounds  from  the  enemy,  intense  cold  in  winter  and  the 
fatigue  of  summer  campaigns,  destructive  war,  in  which 
everything  is  hazarded,  and  peace,  by  which  nothing  is 
gained,  are  all  the  soldier's  portion. 

"  For  these  evils  there  is  but  one  remedy  left.  Let 
us  fix  the  conditions  of  our  service ;  let  every  soldier 
receive  a  denarius l  a  day,  and  at  the  end  of  sixteen 
years  let  him  be  entitled  to  his  discharge;  beyond 
that  term  no  further  service.  Without  detaining  any 
man  whatever,  and  without  forcing  him  to  follow  the 
colors  as  a  veteran,  let  every  soldier  receive  the  arrears 
that  may  be  due  to  him ;  let  him  be  paid  in  ready 
money  on  the  spot,  and  in  the  very  camp  where  he 
signalized  his  valor.  The  praetorian  cohorts  2  receive 
two  denarii  for  their  daily  pay ;  at  the  end  of  sixteen 
years  they  return  to  their  families.  Is  superior  merit 
the  ground  of  this  distinction?  Do  they  encounter 
greater  dangers?  It  is  theirs  to  mount  guard  within 
the  city,  and  the  service  may  be  honorable  ;  but  it  is 
our  lot  to  serve  amidst  savage  nations  in  a  state  of 
perpetual  warfare.  If  we  look  out  of  our  tents  the 
barbarians  are  in  view." 

This  speech  was  received  with  acclamations.  Vari- 
ous passions  heaved  in  every  breast.  Some  presented 
their  bodies  seamed  with  stripes ;  others  pointed  to 
their  heads  grown  gray  in  the  service ;  numbers 
showed  their  tattered  clothing,  and  their  persons  al- 
most naked.  At  length  the  frenzy  of  the  malcontents 
knew  no  bounds.  Their  first  design  was  to  incorpo- 
rate the  three  legions  into  one  ;  but  which  should  give 

1  About  twenty  cents. 

2  The  Praetorian  Guard,  numbering  about  10,000  men,  and  kept  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Rome. 


MUTINY  OF  THE  PANNONIAN  LEGIONS     413 

its  name  to  the  united  body  was  the  question.  Mutual 
jealousy  put  an  end  to  the  project.  Another  plan  was 
carried  out :  the  eagles  of  the  three  legions,  with  the 
colors  of  the  cohorts,  were  crowded  together  without 
preference  or  distinction.  They  threw  up  sods  of 
earth,  and  began  to  raise  a  tribunal.  Amidst  the  tu- 
mult Blaesus  arrived.  He  called  aloud  to  all,  laid 
hold  of  individuals,  offered  himself  to  their  swords. 
"  Here,"  he  said,  "  behold  your  victim  ;  imbrue  your 
hands  in  the  blood  of  your  general.  Murder  is  a 
crime  less  horrible  than  treason  to  your  prince.  I 
will  either  live  to  command  the  legions  intrusted  to 
me  ;  or,  if  you  are  determined  to  revolt,  despatch  me 
first,  that,  when  the  frenzy  is  over,  you  may  wake  to 
shame,  horror,  and  remorse." 

The  work  of  raising  a  tribunal,  in  spite  of  all  his 
efforts,  still  went  on.  Heaps  of  turf  were  thrown  up, 
and  rose  breast  high.  Conquered  at  length  by  the 
perseverance  of  their  general,  the  mutineers  desisted. 
Blaesus  exerted  all  his  eloquence :  "  Sedition  and  re- 
volt," he  said,  "  could  not  serve  the  cause  ;  the  remon- 
strances of  the  army  ought  to  be  conveyed  to  the  ear 
of  the  prince  with  respect  and  deference.  The  de- 
mands which  they  now  made  were  new,  unknown  to 
former  armies,  and  with  the  deified  Augustus  never 
attempted.  In  the  present  juncture,  when  the  prince 
had  just  undertaken  the  cares  of  government,  was  that 
a  time  to  add  to  his  solicitude  by  tumult  and  insurrec- 
tion ?  If  they  would  still  persist,  in  the  season  of  pro- 
found peace,  to  urge  a  claim  never  demanded  even  by 
the  conquerors  in  a  civil  war,  why  incur  the  guilt  of 
rebellion?  Why,  in  violation  of  all  military  disci- 
pline, urge  their  pretensions  sword  in  hand?  They 
might  depute  their  agent  to  treat  with  the  prince, 


414  TACITUS 

and,  in  the  presence  of  their  general,  give  their  in- 
structions on  the  spot."  This  proposal  was  accepted : 
with  one  voice  they  called  for  the  son  of  Blaesus, 
then  a  military  tribune.  The  young  officer  under- 
took the  charge.  His  directions  were  to  insist  that 
at  the  expiration  of  sixteen  years  the  soldier  should 
be  discharged  from  the  service.  That  point  settled, 
it  then  would  be  time  to  enumerate  other  grievances. 
With  this  commission  the  general's  son  went  forward 
on  his  journey.  A  calm  succeeded,  and  lasted  for 
some  days.  But  the  minds  of  the  soldiers  were  still 
in  agitation :  their  pride  was  roused  ;  the  general's  son 
was  now  the  orator  of  the  army  ;  and  force,  it  was  man- 
ifest, had  at  length  extorted  what  by  gentle  measures 
could  never  have  been  obtained. 

Meanwhile  the  detached  companies,  which  before 
the  disturbance  had  been  sent  to  Nauportum,  having 
heard  of  the  commotion  in  the  camp,  seized  the  col- 
ors, and,  after  ravaging  the  adjacent  villages,  plun- 
dered Nauportum,  a  place  little  inferior  to  a  municipal 
town.  They  treated  the  centurions  with  derision, 
from  derision  proceeded  to  opprobrious  language,  and 
in  the  end  to  blows  and  open  violence.  Aufidienus 
Jtufus,  the  prefect  of  the  camp,1  was  the  chief  object 
of  their  fury :  they  dragged  him  out  of  his  carriage  ; 
and,  laying  a  heavy  load  on  his  back,  obliged  him  to 
march  in  the  foremost  ranks,  asking  him  with  con- 
temptuous insolence  how  he  liked  his  burden  and  the 
length  of  his  journey.  Rufus  had  risen  from  a  com- 
mon soldier  to  the  rank  of  centurion,  and  was  after- 
wards made  prefect  of  the  camp.  In  that  station  he 
endeavored  to  recall  the  rigor  of  ancient  discipline. 
A  veteran  in  the  service  and  long  inured  to  fatigue, 
His  duties  resembled  those  of  a  quartermaster. 


MUTINY  OF  THE  P ANN  ONI  AN  LEGIONS     415 

he  was  strict  and  rigorous  in  his  duty,  expecting  from 
others  what  he  had  practised  himself. 

The  return  of  this  tumultuous  body  renewed  the 
troubles  of  the  camp.  The  soldiers,  without  control, 
left  the  lines,  and  pillaged  the  country  round.  Some, 
more  heavily  loaded  with  booty  than  their  comrades, 
were  apprehended  by  the  orders  of  Blaesus,  and,  after 
receiving  due  correction,  thrown  into  prison,  as  an 
example  to  the  rest.  The  authority  of  the  general 
was  still  in  force  with  the  centurions  and  such  of  the 
common  soldiers  as  retained  a  sense  of  their  duty. 
The  delinquents,  however,  refused  to  submit :  they  were 
dragged  along,  resisting  with  all  their  strength ;  they 
clasped  the  knees  of  the  multitude  round  them ; 
they  called  on  their  fellow-soldiers  by  name ;  they  im- 
plored the  protection  of  the  company  to  which  they 
belonged ;  they  invoked  the  cohorts  and  the  legions, 
crying  out  to  all  that  the  same  lot  would  shortly  be 
their  portion.  Against  their  general  they  omitted  no- 
thing that  calumny  could  suggest;  they  appealed  to 
heaven  ;  they  implored  their  gods ;  they  tried  by  every 
topic  to  excite  compassion,  to  inflame  resentment,  to 
awaken  terror,  and  rouse  the  men  to  acts  of  violence. 
A  general  insurrection  followed :  the  soldiers  in  a  body 
rushed  to  the  prison,  burst  the  gates,  unchained  the 
prisoners,  and  associated  with  themselves  the  vilest  of 
the  army,  a  band  of  deserters,  and  a  desperate  crew 
of  malefactors,  then  under  condemnation  for  the 
enormity  of  their  crimes. 

The  flame  of  discord  raged  with  redoubled  fury. 
New  leaders  joined  the  mutiny.  Amidst  the  crowd, 
one  of  the  common  soldiers,  a  fellow  known  by  the 
name  of  Vibulenus,  mounted  on  the  shoulders  of  his 
comrades  before  the  tribunal  of  Blaesus,  and  addressed 


416  TACITUS 

the  multitude,  all  wild  with  fury,  and  eager  to  hear 
the  language  of  sedition.  "My  friends,"  he  said, 
"  you  have  bravely  interposed  to  save  the  lives  of 
these  innocent,  these  much-injured  men ;  you  have 
restored  them  to  new  life ;  but  who  will  restore  my 
brother  ?  Who  will  give  him  to  my  arms  ?  Sent  hither 
from  the  German  army,  in  concert  with  you  to  settle 
measures  for  our  common  safety,  he  was  last  night 
basely  murdered  by  the  hand  of  gladiators1  whom 
Blaesus  arms  for  your  destruction.  Answer  me, 
Blaesus,  where  have  you  bestowed  the  body?  The 
very  enemy  allows  the  rites  of  sepulture.  When  I 
have  washed  my  brother  with  my  tears,  and  printed 
kisses  on  his  mangled  body,  then  plunge  your  poniard 
in  this  wretched  bosom.  I  shall  die  content,  if  these 
my  fellow-soldiers  perform  the  last  funeral  office,  and 
bury  in  one  grave  two  wretched  victims,  who  knew  no 
crime  but  that  of  serving  the  common  interest  of  the 
legions." 

This  speech  Vibulenus  rendered  still  more  inflam- 
matory by  the  vehemence  of  his  manner,  by  beating 
his  breast,  by  striking  his  forehead,  and  pouring  a 
flood  of  tears.  A  way  being  opened  through  the 
crowd,  he  leaped  from  the  men's  shoulders,  and  grov- 
eling at  the  feet  of  individuals,  excited  the  passions 
of  the  multitude  to  the  highest  pitch  of  frenzy.  In 
their  fury  some  fell  on  the  gladiators  retained  by 
Blaesus,  and  loaded  them  with  irons  ;  others  seized  the 
general's  domestic  train,  while  numbers  dispersed 
themselves  on  every  side  in  quest  of  the  body ;  and 
if  it  had  not  been  speedily  known  that  no  corpse  could 
be  found,  that  the  slaves  of  Blaesus  averred  under 
the  torture  that  no  murder  had  been  committed, 

1  Slaves  trained  as  gladiators. 


MUTINY  OF  THE  PANNONIAN  LEGIONS     417 

and,  in  fact,  that  the  incendiary  never  had  a  brother, 
Blaesus  must  have  fallen  a  sacrifice.  The  tribunes 
and  the  prefect  of  the  army  were  obliged  to  save 
themselves  by  flight.  Their  baggage  was  seized  and 
plundered.  Lucilius  the  centurion  was  put  to  death. 
This  man,  by  the  sarcastic  pleasantry  of  the  soldiers, 
had  been  nicknamed,  "  Give  me  another ; "  because, 
in  chastising  the  soldiers,  when  one  rod  was  broken, 
he  used  to  call  for  "  Another,"  and  then  "  Another." 
The  rest  of  the  centurions  lay  concealed.  Out  of 
the  whole  number,  Julius  Clemens,  a  man  of  prompt- 
ness and  energy,  was  the  favorite  of  the  insurgents. 
He  was  spared  as  a  fit  person  to  negotiate  the  claims 
of  the  army.  Two  of  the  legions,  the  eighth  and  the 
fifteenth,  were  on  the  point  of  coming  to  the  deci- 
sion of  the  sword  :  the  former  bent  on  the  destruc- 
tion of  Sirpicus,  a  centurion,  and  the  latter  determined 
to  protect  him.  The  quarrel  would  have  resulted 
in  a  scene  of  blood,  if  the  soldiers  of  the  ninth  legion 
had  not,  by  entreaties  or  menaces,  appeased  the  fury 
of  both  parties. 

When  the  account  of  these  transactions  reached 
Tiberius,  that  abstruse  and  gloomy  prince,  who  loved 
to  brood  in  secret  over  all  untoward  events,  was  so 
deeply  affected,  that  he  resolved  to  despatch  his  son 
Drusus  and  other  nobles,  together  with  two  praeto- 
rian cohorts,  to  quell  the  insurrection.  In  their  in- 
structions no  decisive  orders  were  given :  they  were 
left  to  act  as  emergencies  might  require.  To  the  co- 
horts was  added  a  select  detachment,  with  a  party 
of  the  praetorian  horse,  and  the  flower  of  the  Ger- 
mans, at  that  time  the  body-guard  of  the  emperor. 
In  the  train  which  accompanied  Drusus,  Aelius  Seja- 
nus  was  appointed  to  guide  the  inexperience  of  the 


418  TACITUS 

young  prince.  Sejanus,1  at  that  time  in  a  joint  com- 
mission with  his  father  Strabo,  had  the  command  of 
the  praetorian  bands,  and  stood  high  in  favor  with 
Tiberius.  The  army  would  of  course  consider  him 
as  the  fountain  of  rewards  and  punishments.  As  soon 
as  they  approached  the  camp,  the  discontented  legions, 
by  way  of  doing  honor  to  Drustis,  advanced  to  meet 
him ;  not,  indeed,  with  colors  displayed,  as  is  usual 
on  such  occasions,  but  in  deep  and  solemn  silence, 
their  dress  neglected,  and  their  whole  appearance  un- 
couth and  sordid.  In  their  looks  was  seen  an  air  of 
dejection,  and  at  the  same  time  a  sullen  gloom,  that 
plainly  showed  a  spirit  of  mutiny  still  working  in  their 
hearts. 

Drusus  was  no  sooner  within  the  entrenchments  than 
the  malcontents  secured  the  gates.  Sentinels  were 
posted  at  different  stations,  while  the  rest  gathered 
in  a  body  round  the  tribunal.  Drusus  stood  in  act  to 
speak,  with  his  hand  commanding  silence.  The  sol- 
diers felt  a  variety  of  contending  passions :  they  looked 
around,  and  viewing  their  numbers  grew  fierce  at  the 
sight,  rending  the  air  with  shouts  and  acclamations ; 
they  turned  to  Drusus,  and  were  covered  with  confu- 
sion. An  indistinct  and  hollow  murmur  was  heard, 
a  general  uproar  followed,  and  soon  afterwards  a  deep 
and  awful  silence.  The  behavior  of  the  men  varied 
with  their  passions,  by  turns  inflamed  with  rage  or 
depressed  with  fear.  Drusus  seized  his  moment,  and 
read  his  father's  letter,  in  substance  stating  that 
Tiberius  had  nothing  so  much  at  heart  as  the  interest 
of  the  gallant  legions  with  whom  he  had  served  in 
so  many  wars.  As  soon  as  his  grief  for  the  loss  of 
Augustus  allowed  him  leisure,  it  was  his  intention  to 

1  Afterwards  the  emperor's  confidential  minister. 


MUTINY  OF  THE  P  ANN  ON  I  AN  LEGIONS     419 

refer  the  case  of  the  army  to  the  wisdom  of  the  senate. 
In  the  mean  time  he  sent  his  son  to  grant  all  the 
relief  that  could  then  be  applied.  Ulterior  demands 
he  reserved  for  the  deliberation  of  the  fathers.  To  en- 
force authority,  or  to  relax  it,  was  the  lawful  right  of 
that  assembly,  and  the  senate,  beyond  all  doubt,  would 
distribute  rewards  and  punishments  with  equal  justice. 
The  soldiers  made  answer  that  they  had  appointed 
Julius  Clemens  to  speak  in  their  behalf.  That  officer 
claimed  a  right  of  discharge  from  the  service  at  the 
end  of  sixteen  years,  all  arrears  to  be  settled  then ;  in 
the  mean  time  a  denarius  to  be  the  soldier's  daily 
pay,  and  the  practice  of  detaining  the  men  beyond 
the  period  of  their  service,  under  the  name  of  veter- 
ans, to  be  abolished  forever.  In  a  business  of  so 
much  moment,  Drusus  observed,  the  senate  and  the 
emperor  must  be  consulted.  A  general  clamor  fol- 
lowed. "  Why  did  he  come  so  far,  since  he  had  no 
authority  to  augment  their  pay,  or  to  mitigate  their 
sufferings  ?  The  power  of  doing  good  was  not  con- 
fided to  him,  while  every  petty  officer  inflicted  blows 
and  stripes,  and  even  death.  It  had  been  formerly 
the  policy  of  Tiberius  to  elude  the  claims  of  the  army, 
by  taking  shelter  under  the  name  of  Augustus  ;  and 
now  Drusus  comes  to  play  the  same  farce.  How  long 
were  they  to  be  amused  by  the  visits  of  the  emperor's 
son  ?  Could  that  be  deemed  an  equitable  government 
that  kept  nothing  in  suspense  but  the  good  of  the 
army  ?  When  the  soldier  is  to  be  punished,  or  a  battle 
to  be  fought,  why  not  consult  the  senate?  According 
to  the  present  system  reward  is  to  be  always  a  subject 
of  reference,  while  punishment  is  instant  and  without 
appeal." 

The  soldiers,  in  a  tumultuous  body,  rushed  from 


420  TACITUS 

the  tribunal,  breathing  vengeance,  and  wherever  they 
met  either  men  belonging  to  the  praetorian  bands, 
or  friends  of  Drusus,  they  threatened  violence,  in 
hopes  of  ending  the  dispute  by  a  sudden  conflict. 
Gnaeus  Lentulus,  whose  age  and  military  character 
gave  him  considerable  weight,  was  particularly  obnox- 
ious, he  being  regarded  as  the  chief  adviser  of  Dru- 
sus, and  an  enemy  to  the  proceedings  of  the  army. 
For  the  security  of  his  person  he  went  aside  with 
Drusus,  intending  to  repair  to  the  winter  camp.  The 
mutineers  gathered  round  him,  demanding,  with  inso- 
lence, "  Which  way  was  he  going?  to  the  senate?  per- 
haps to  the  emperor  ?  Was  he  there  to  show  himself 
an  enemy  to  the  demands  of  the  legion  ?  "  Nothing 
could  restrain  their  fury.  They  discharged  a  volley  of 
stones,  and  Lentulus,  wounded  and  covered  with  blood, 
had  nothing  to  expect  but  instant  death,  when  the 
guards  that  attended  Drusus  came  up  in  time,  and 
rescued  him  from  destruction. 

The  night  that  followed  seemed  big  with  some  fatal 
disaster,  when  an  unexpected  phenomenon  put  an  end 
to  the  commotion.  In  a  clear  and  serene  sky  the 
moon  was  suddenly  eclipsed.  This  appearance,  its 
natural  cause  not  being  understood  by  the  soldiers,  was 
deemed  a  prognostic  announcing  the  fate  of  the  army. 
The  planet  in  its  languishing  state  represented  the 
condition  of  the  legions ;  if  it  recovered  its  former 
lustre,  the  efforts  of  the  men  would  be  crowned  with 
success.  To  assist  the  moon  in  her  labors,  the  air 
resounded  with  the  clangor  of  brazen  instruments, 
with  the  sound  of  trumpets,  and  other  warlike  music. 
The  crowd  in  the  mean  time  stood  at  gaze.  Every 
gleam  of  light  inspired  the  men  with  joy,  .and  the 
sudden  gloom  depressed  their  hearts  with  grief.  The 


MUTINY  OF  THE  PANNONIAN  LEGIONS     421 

clouds  condensed,  and  the  moon  was  supposed  to  be 
lost  in  utter  darkness.  A  melancholy  horror  seized 
the  multitude,  and  melancholy  is  sure  to  engender 
superstition.  A  religious  panic  spread  through  the 
army.  The  appearance  in  the  heavens  foretold  eter- 
nal labor  to  the  legions,  and  all  lamented  that  by 
their  crimes  they  had  called  down  on  themselves  the 
indignation  of  the  gods.  Drusus  took  advantage  of 
the  moment.  The  opportunity  was  the  effect  of  chance, 
but,  rightly  managed,  might  conduce  to  the  wisest 
purpose. 

He  gave  orders  that  the  men  who  by  honest  means 
were  most  in  credit  with  the  malcontents  should  go 
round  from  tent  to  tent.  Among  these  was  Clemens 
the  centurion.  They  visited  every  part  of  the  camp, 
applied  to  the  guards  on  duty,  conversed  with  the 
patrol,  and  mixed  with  the  sentinels  at  the  gates. 
They  allured  some  by  promises,  and  by  terror  subdued 
the  spirit  of  others.  "How  long  shall  we  besiege 
the  son  of  the  emperor?  Where  will  this  confusion 
end  ?  Must  we  follow  Percennius  and  Vibulenus  ? 
And  shall  we  swear  fidelity  to  those  new  command- 
ers ?  Will  their  funds  supply  the  pay  of  the  legions  ? 
Have  they  lands  to  assign  to  the  veteran  soldier? 
For  them  shall  the  Neros  and  the  Drusi  be  deposed  ? 
Are  they  to  mount  the  vacant  throne,  the  future  sov- 
ereigns of  Rome  ?  Let  us,  since  we  were  the  last  to 
enter  into  rebellion,  be  the  first  to  expiate  our  guilt 
by  well-timed  repentance.  Demands  in  favor  of  all 
proceed  but  slowly  ;  to  individuals  indulgence  is  more 
easily  granted ;  deserve  it  separately,  and  the  reward 
will  follow."  This  reasoning  had  its  effect.  Sus- 
picion and  mutual  distrust  began  to  arise;  the  sol- 
diers recently  recruited  went  apart  from  the  veterans ; 


422  TACITUS 

the  legions  separated  ;  a  sense  of  duty  revived  in  the 
breasts  of  all ;  the  gates  were  no  longer  guarded ;  and 
the  colors,  at  first  promiscuously  crowded  together, 
were  restored  to  their  proper  stations. 

At  the  return  of  day  Drusus  called  an  assembly  of 
the  soldiers.  Though  unused  to  public  speaking,  he 
delivered  himself  with  the  eloquence  of  a  man  who 
felt  his  own  importance  and  the  dignity  of  his  rank. 
He  condemned  the  past,  and  applauded  the  present. 
It  was  not,  he  said,  a  part  of  his  character  to  yield  to 
menaces,  or  to  shrink  from  danger.  If  he  saw  them 
penitent,  if  he  heard  the  language  of  remorse,  he 
would  make  a  report  in  their  favor,  and  dispose  his 
father  to  listen  to  their  petition.  The  soldiers  an- 
swered in  humble  terms.  At  their  request  the  younger 
Blaesus,  mentioned  above,  with  Lucius  Apronius,  a  Ro- 
man knight  in  the  train  of  Drusus,  and  Justus  Catonius, 
a  centurion  of  the  first  rank,  were  despatched  as  the 
delegates  of  the  army.  In  the  councils  afterwards 
held  by  Drusus  various  opinions  were  entertained, 
and  different  measures  proposed.  To  wait  the  return 
of  the  deputies,  and  meanwhile  to  win  the  affections 
of  the  men  by  moderation,  was  the  advice  of  many : 
others  were  for  immediate  coercion.  "  Lenity,"  they 
said,  "  makes  no  impression  on  the  vulgar  herd.  Com- 
mon soldiers,  when  not  kept  in  subjection,  are  fierce 
and  turbulent,  yet  ever  ready  to  bend  and  crouch 
under  proper  authority.  It  was  now  the  time,  while 
they  were  overwhelmed  with  superstition,  to  infuse 
another  fear,  and  teach  them  to  respect  their  general. 
The  authors  of  the  late  sedition  ought  to  be  made  a 
public  example."  Drusus,  by  the  bent  of  his  nature 
prone  to  vindictive  measures,  desired  that  Percennius 
and  Vibulenus  should  be  brought  before  him.  By  his 


MUTINY  OF  THE  PANNONIAN  LEGIONS     423 

orders  they  were  put  to  death ;  according  to  some 
writers,  in  his  own  tent,  and  there  buried ;  according 
to  others,  their  bodies  were  thrown  over  the  entrench- 
ments, a  spectacle  for  public  view. 

Diligent  search  was  made  for  the  most  active  incen- 
diaries. Some  were  found  roving  on  the  outside  of 
the  lines,  and  were  instantly  cut  off  by  the  centurions 
or  the  praetorian  soldiers.  Others  were  delivered  up  to 
justice  by  their  respective  companies,  as  an  earnest  of 
their  own  conversion.  The  rigor  of  the  winter,  which 
set  in  earlier  than  usual,  added  to  the  afflictions  of  the 
army.  Heavy  rains  ensued,  and  fell  with  such  violence 
that  the  men  could  not  venture  from  their  tents.  To 
meet  in  parties,  and  converse  with  their  comrades,  was 
impossible.  The  colors,  borne  down  by  torrents  that 
rushed  through  the  camp,  were  with  difficulty  secured. 
Superstition  still  continued  to  fill  the  mind  with  ter- 
ror. In  everything  that  happened  imagination  saw 
the  anger  of  the  gods  :  it  was  not  without  reason  that 
the  planets  suffered  an  eclipse,  and  storms  and  tem- 
pests burst  from  the  angry  elements ;  the  guilt  of  the 
army  was  the  cause  of  all.  To  avert  impending  ven- 
geance, the  only  expedient  was  to  depart  at  once  from 
an  inauspicious  camp,  and  by  due  atonement  expiate 
their  past  offenses  in  their  winter  quarters.  In  this 
persuasion  the  eighth  legion  departed;  the  fifteenth 
followed.  The  ninth  remained  behind,  declaring  aloud 
that  they  would  wait  for  orders  from  Tiberius,  but 
they  soon  saw  themselves  deserted,  and  therefore 
struck  their  tents,  willing  to  do  by  choice  what  in  a 
little  time  would  be  an  act  of  necessity.  Peace  and 
good  order  being  thus  restored,  Drusus,  deeming  it 
unnecessary  to  wait  for  the  return  of  the  deputies, 
immediately  set  out  for  Home. 


424  TACITUS 

THE  GREAT  FIRE  AT  ROME1 

(Annales,  XV.,  38-44.) 

A  DREADFUL  calamity  followed  a  short  time  after- 
wards, by  some  ascribed  to  chance,  by  others  to  the 
execrable  wickedness  of  Nero.  There  is  authority 
of  historians  on  both  sides,  and  which  preponderates 
it  is  not  easy  to  determine.  It  is,  however,  certain, 
that  of  all  the  disasters  that  ever  befell  the  city  of 
Rome  from  fire,  this  was  the  worst,  the  most  violent 
and  the  most  destructive.  The  flames  broke  out  in 
that  part  of  the  circus  which  adjoins  on  one  side 
the  Palatine  hill,  and  on  the  other  the  Caelian.  It 
caught  a  number  of  shops  stored  with  combustible 
goods,  and  gathering  force  from  the  winds  spread  with 
rapidity  from  one  end  of  the  circus  to  the  other. 
Neither  the  thick  walls  of  houses,  nor  the  inclosure 
of  temples,  nor  any  other  building  could  check  the 
rapid  progress  of  the  flames.  A  dreadful  conflagra- 
tion followed.  The  level  parts  of  the  city  were  de- 
stroyed. The  fire  reached  the  higher  buildings,  and 
again  laying  hold  of  lower  places  spread  with  a  de- 
gree of  velocity  that  nothing  could  resist.  The  form 
of  the  streets,  long  and  narrow,  with  frequent  wind- 
ings and  no  regular  opening,  contributed  to  increase 
the  mischief.  The  shrieks  and  lamentations  of  wo- 
men, the  infirm  it  it's  of  age,  and  the  weakness  of  the 
young  and  tender  added  misery  to  the  dreadful  scene. 
Some  endeavored  to  provide  for  themselves,  others 
to  save  their  friends,  in  one  part  dragging  along  the 
lame  and  impotent,  in  another  waiting  to  receive  the 
tardy,  or  expecting  relief  themselves.  They  hurried, 
1  64  A.  D. 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  AT  ROME  425 

they  lingered,  they  obstructed  one  another.  They 
looked  behind,  and  the  fire  broke  out  in  front ; 
they  escaped  from  the  flames,  and  in  their  place  of 
refuge  found  no  safety.  The  fire  raged  in  every 
quarter ;  all  were  involved  in  one  general  conflagra- 
tion. 

The  unhappy  wretches  fled  to  places  remote  and 
thought  themselves  secure,  but  soon  perceived  the 
flames  raging  round  them.  Which  way  to  turn,  what 
to  avoid  or  what  to  seek,  no  one  could  tell.  Some 
fell  prostrate  on  the  ground ;  others  lay  stretched  in 
the  fields,  in  consternation  and  dismay  resigned  to 
their  fate.  Numbers  lost  their  whole  substance,  even 
the  tools  and  implements  by  which  they  gained  their 
livelihood,  and,  in  that  distress,  did  not  wish  to  sur- 
vive. Many,  wild  with  affliction  for  their  friends 
and  relations  whom  they  could  not  save,  embraced  a 
voluntary  death  and  perished  in  the  flames.  Dur- 
ing the  whole  of  this  dismal  scene  no  man  dared  to 
attempt  anything  that  might  check  the  violence  of 
the  dreadful  calamity.  A  crew  of  incendiaries  stood 
near  at  hand  denouncing  vengeance  on  all  who  of- 
fered to  interfere.  Some  were  so  abandoned  as  to 
heap  fuel  on  the  flames.  They  threw  in  firebrands 
and  flaming  torches,  proclaiming  aloud  that  they  had 
authority  for  what  they  did.  Whether  in  fact  they 
had  received  such  horrible  orders,  or  under  that  de- 
vice meant  to  plunder  with  greater  licentiousness, 
cannot  now  be  known. 

During  the  whole  of  this  terrible  conflagration 
Nero  remained  at  Antium,  without  a  thought  of  re- 
turning to  the  city,  till  the  fire  approached  the  build- 
ing by  which  he  had  joined  the  gardens  of  Maecenas 
with  the  imperial  palace.  All  help,  however,  was  too 


426  TACITUS 

late.  The  palace,  the  contiguous  edifices,  and  every 
house  adjoining  were  laid  in  ruins.  To  relieve  the 
unhappy  people,  wandering  in  distress  without  a  place 
of  shelter,  he  opened  the  field  of  Mars,  as  well  as 
the  magnificent  buildings  raised  by  Agrippa,  and  even 
his  own  imperial  gardens.  He  ordered  a  number  of 
sheds  to  be  thrown  up  with  all  possible  despatch,  for 
the  use  of  the  populace.  Household  utensils  and  all 
kinds  of  necessary  implements  were  brought  from  Os- 
tia  and  other  cities  in  the  neighborhood.  The  price 
of  grain  was  reduced  to  three  sesterces l  a  peck.  For 
acts  like  these,  munificent  and  well-timed,  Nero  might 
hope  for  a  return  of  popular  favor,  but  his  expecta- 
tions were  in  vain :  no  man  was  touched  with  grati- 
tude. A  report  prevailed  that,  while  the  city  was  in  a 
blaze,  Nero  went  to  his  own  theatre,  and  there,  mount- 
ing the  stage,  sang  the  destruction  of  Troy,  as  a  happy 
allusion  to  the  present  misfortune. 

On  the  sixth  day  the  fire  was  subdued  at  the  foot 
of  the  Esquiline  hill.  This  was  effected  by  demolish- 
ing a  number  of  buildings,  and  thereby  leaving  a  wide 
space,  where  for  want  of  materials  the  flame  expired. 
The  minds  of  men  had  scarce  begun  to  recover  from 
their  consternation  when  the  fire  broke  out  a  sec- 
ond time  with  no  less  fury  than  before.  This  hap- 
pened, however,  in  a  more  open  quarter,  where  fewer 
lives  were  lost ;  but  the  temples  of  the  gods,  the  por- 
ticos and  buildings  raised  for  the  decoration  of  the 
city,  were  levelled  to  the  ground.  The  popular  odium 
was  now  more  inflamed  than  ever,  as  this  second  alarm 
began  in  the  house  of  Tigellinus,2  formerly  the  man- 
sion of  Aemilius.  A  suspicion  prevailed  that  to  build 
a  new  city  and  give  it  his  own  name  was  the  ambi- 
1  Twelve  cents.  a  A  favorite  of  Nero. 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  AT  ROME  427 

tion  of  Nero.  Of  the  fourteen  quarters  into  which 
Rome  was  divided,  four  only  were  left  entire,  three 
were  reduced  to  ashes,  and  the  remaining  seven  pre- 
sented nothing  better  than  a  heap  of  shattered  houses 
half  in  ruins. 

The  number  of  houses,  temples,  and  tenements  de- 
stroyed by  the  fire  cannot  be  ascertained.  But  the 
most  venerable  monuments  of  antiquity,  which  the 
worship  of  ages  had  rendered  sacred,  were  laid  in 
ruins.  Amongst  these  were  the  temple  dedicated  to 
the  moon  by  Servius  Tullius,  the  fane  and  the  great 
altar  consecrated  by  Evander  to  Hercules,  the  chapel 
of  Jupiter  Stator,  built  by  Romulus,  the  palace  of 
Numa,  and  the  temple  of  Vesta,  with  the  tutelary 
gods  of  Rome.  With  these  were  consumed  the  tro- 
phies of  innumerable  victories,  and  many  precious 
monuments  of  literature  and  ancient  genius,  all  at 
present  remembered  by  men  advanced  in  years,  but 
irrevocably  lost.  Not  even  the  splendor  with  which 
the  new  city  rose  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  old  could 
compensate  for  that  lamented  disaster.  It  did  not 
escape  observation  that  the  fire  broke  out  on  the  nine- 
teenth of  July,  a  day  remarkable  for  the  conflagra- 
tion kindled  by  the  Senones,  when  those  barbarians 
took  the  city  of  Rome  by  storm,  and  burned  it  to 
the  ground.  Men  of  reflection,  who  refined  on  every- 
thing with  minute  curiosity,  calculated  the  number  of 
years,  months,  and  days  from  the  foundation  of  Rome 
to  its  burning  by  the  Gauls,  and  from  that  calamity 
to  the  present  they  found  the  interval  of  time  precisely 
the  same. 

Nero  did  not  blush  to  convert  to  his  own  use  the 
public  ruins  of  his  country.  He  built  a  magnificent 
palace,  in  which  the  objects  that  excited  admiration 


428  TACITUS 

were  neither  gold  nor  precious  stones.  Those  decora- 
tions, long  since  introduced  by  luxury,  were  grown 
stale  and  hackneyed  to  the  eye.  A  different  species 
of  magnificence  was  now  consulted :  expansive  lakes 
and  fields  of  vast  extent  were  intermixed  with  pleas- 
ing variety;  woods  and  forests  stretched  to  an  im- 
measurable length,  presenting  gloom  and  solitude 
amidst  scenes  of  open  space,  where  the  eye  wandered 
with  surprise  over  an  unbounded  prospect.  This  pro- 
digious plan  was  carried  out  under  the  direction  of  two 
surveyors,  whose  names  were  Severus  and  Celer. 
Bold  and  original  in  their  projects,  these  men  under- 
took to  conquer  nature,  and  to  perform  wonders  even 
beyond  the  imagination  and  the  riches  of  the  prince. 
They  promised  to  form  a  navigable  canal  from  Lake 
Avernus  to  the  mouth  of  the  Tiber.  The  experiment, 
like  the  genius  of  the  men,  was  bold  and  grand. 
The  canal  was  to  be  made  through  a  long  tract  of 
barren  land,  and  in  some  places  through  opposing 
mountains.  The  country  round  was  parched  and  dry, 
without  one  humid  spot,  except  the  Pomptinian  marsh, 
from  which  water  could  be  expected.  A  scheme  so 
vast  could  not  be  accomplished  without  immoderate 
labor,  and,  if  practicable,  the  end  was  in  no  propor- 
tion to  the  expense  and  labor.  But  the  prodigious 
and  almost  impossible  had  charms  for  the  enterprising 
spirit  of  Nero.  He  began  to  hew  a  passage  through 
the  hills  that  surround  Lake  Avernus,  and  some  traces 
of  his  deluded  hopes  are  visible  at  this  day. 

The  ground  which,  after  marking  out  his  own  do- 
main, Nero  left  to  the  public,  was  not  laid  out  for  the 
new  city  in  a  hurry  and  without  judgment,  as  was  the 
case  after  the  irruption  of  the  Gauls.  A  regular  plan 
was  formed  :  the  streets  were  made  wide  and  long ; 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  AT  ROME  429 

the  elevation  of  the  houses  was  defined,  with  an  open 
area  before  the  doors,  and  porticos  to  secure  and 
adorn  the  front.  The  expense  of  the  porticos  Nero 
undertook  to  defray  out  of  his  own  revenue.  He 
promised,  besides,  as  soon  as  the  work  was  finished, 
to  clear  the  ground,  and  leave  a  clear  space  to  every 
house,  without  any  charge  to  the  occupant.  In  order 
to  excite  a  spirit  of  industry  and  emulation,  he  offered 
rewards  proportioned  to  the  rank  of  each  individual, 
provided  the  buildings  were  finished  in  a  limited 
time.  The  rubbish  was  removed  by  his  order  to  the 
marshes  of  Ostia,  and  the  ships  that  brought  corn  up 
the  river  were  to  return  loaded  with  the  refuse  of 
the  workmen.  Besides  all  this  the  houses,  built  on  a 
new  principle,  were  to  be  raised  to  a  certain  eleva- 
tion, without  beams  or  woodwork,  on  arches  of  stone 
from  the  quarries  of  Alba  or  Gabii,  those  materials 
being  impervious,  and  of  a  nature  to  resist  the  force 
of  fire.  The  springs  of  water,  which  had  been  before 
that  time  intercepted  by  individuals  for  their  separate 
use,  were  no  longer  suffered  to  be  diverted  from  their 
channel,  but  left  to  the  care  of  commissioners,  that 
the  public  might  be  properly  supplied,  and  in  case  of 
fire  have  a  reservoir  at  hand  to  stop  the  progress  of 
the  mischief. 

It  was  also  settled  that  the  houses  should  no  longer 
be  contiguous,  with  slight  party-walls  to  divide  them, 
but  that  every  house  should  stand  detached,  sur- 
rounded and  insulated  by  its  own  inclosure.  These 
regulations,  it  must  be  admitted,  were  of  public  utility, 
and  added  much  to  the  embellishment  of  the  new  city. 
But  still  the  old  plan  of  Rome  was  not  without  its  ad- 
vocates. It  was  thought  more  conducive  to  the  health 
of  the  inhabitants.  The  narrowness  of  the  streets 


430  TACITUS 

and  the  elevation  of  the  buildings  served  to  exclude 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  whereas  the  more  open  space, 
having  neither  shade  nor  shelter,  left  men  exposed  to 
the  intense  heat  of  the  day. 

These  several  regulations  were,  no  doubt,  the  best 
that  human  wisdom  could  suggest.  The  next  care 
was  to  propitiate  the  gods.  The  Sibylline  Books1  were 
consulted,  and  the  consequence  was  that  supplications 
were  decreed  to  Vulcan,  to  Ceres,  and  to  Proserpine. 
A  band  of  matrons  offered  their  prayers  and  sacrifices 
to  Juno,  first  in  the  Capitol,  and  next  on  the  nearest 
margin  of  the  sea,  where  they  supplied  themselves 
with  water  to  sprinkle  the  temple  and  the  statue  of 
the  goddess.  A  select  number  of  women,  who  had 
husbands  actually  living,  laid  the  deities  on  their  sa- 
cred beds,2  and  kept  midnight  vigils  with  the  usual 
solemnity.  But  neither  these  religious  ceremonies 
nor  the  liberal  donations  of  the  prince  could  efface 
from  the  minds  of  men  the  prevailing  opinion  that 
Rome  was  set  on  fire  by  his  own  orders.  The  infamy 
of  that  horrible  transaction  still  adhered  to  him.  In 
order  if  possible  to  remove  the  imputation,  he  deter- 
mined to  transfer  the  guilt  to  others.  For  this  pur- 
pose he  punished  with  exquisite  cruelty  a  race  of  men 
detested  for  their  evil  practices,  by  vulgar  appellation 
commonly  called  Christians. 

The  name  was  derived  from  Christ,  who  in  the  reign 
of  Tiberius  suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate,  the  procu- 
rator of  Judea.  By  that  event  the  sect  of  which  he 
was  the  founder  received  a  blow  which  for  a  time 

1  A   collection   of    oracles  in   Greek   hexameters  that  had   been 
brought  to  Rome  in  the  reign  of  Tarquinius  Superbns. 

2  Tins  was  the  ceremony  of  the  lectisterniuin,  in  which  images  of  go<ls 
were  laid  upon  cuiiches,  a  table  with  food  being  placed  beside  them. 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  AT  ROME  431 

checked  the  growth  of  a  dangerous  superstition  ;  but 
it  revived  soon  after,  and  spread  with  recruited  vigor, 
not  only  in  Judea,  the  soil  that  gave  it  birth,  but  even 
in  the  city  of  Rome,  the  common  sink  into  which 
everything  infamous  and  abominable  flows  like  a  tor- 
rent from  all  quarters  of  the  world.  Nero  proceeded 
with  his  usual  artifice.  He  found  a  set  of  profligate 
and  abandoned  wretches,  who  were  induced  to  confess 
themselves  guilty,  and  on  the  evidence  of  such  men  a 
number  of  Christians  were  convicted,  not  indeed  on 
clear  evidence  of  their  having  set  the  city  on  fire,  but 
rather  on  account  of  their  sullen  hatred  of  the  whole 
human  race.  They  were  put  to  death,  and  to  their 
sufferings  Nero  added  mockery  and  derision.  Some 
were  covered  with  the  skins  of  wild  beasts,  and  left 
to  be  devoured  by  dogs ;  others  were  nailed  to  the 
cross  ;  numbers  were  burnt  alive  ;  and  many,  covered 
over  with  inflammable  matter,  were  lighted,  when  the 
day  declined,  to  serve  as  torches  during  the  night. 

For  the  convenience  of  seeing  this  tragic  spectacle 
the  emperor  lent  his  own  gardens.  He  added  the 
sports  of  the  circus,  and  assisted  in  person,  sometimes 
driving  a  chariot,  and  occasionally  mixing  with  the 
rabble  in  his  charioteer's  dress.  At  length  the  cruelty 
of  these  proceedings  filled  every  breast  with  compas- 
sion. Humanity  relented  in  favor  of  the  Christians. 
The  manners  of  that  people  were,  no  doubt,  of  a  per- 
nicious tendency,  and  their  crimes  called  for  the  hand 
of  justice,  but  it  was  evident  that  they  fell  a  sacrifice, 
not  for  the  public  good,  but  to  glut  the  rage  and  cru- 
elty of  one  man  only. 


JUVENAL 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

THE  paucity  and  meagreness  of  the  traditions  that  have 
come  down  to  us  about  the  life  of  Juvenal  preclude  the  pos- 
sibility of  anything  but  an  extremely  flimsy  reconstruction 
of  it  He  lived  during  the  last  half  of  the  first  century  of 
our  era  and  the  first  part  of  the  second,  various  activities, 
if  we  are  to  believe  the  ancient  accounts,  filling  up  his  long 
life.  He  is  said  to  have  seen  some  military  service,  to 
have  held  certain  municipal  offices  in  Aquinum  in  Latium, 
presumably  his  native  town,  to  have  turned  to  the  writing 
of  satire  only  after  spending  many  years  in  the  practice 
of  declamation,  and  finally  in  his  eightieth  year  to  have 
been  banished  to  Egypt,  under  the  pretext  of  a  military 
command,  as  a  penalty  for  having  in  one  of  his  satires 
reflected  upon  an  actor  who  was  a  favorite  at  court. 

He  has  left  us  sixteen  satires,  some  of  them  on  general 
moral  themes,  but  the  majority  satirizing  conditions  or  ten- 
dencies in  society  at  Rome.  In  some  cases  he  handles  the 
same  topics  as  Martial,  but  instead  of  Martial's  flippant 
light-heartedness  we  find  bitterness  and  indignation,  ex- 
pressed with  a  rush  of  rhetoric  and  a  mordancy  of  phrase 
that  make  them  unique  even  in  this  kind  of  writing.  His 
sincerity  has  often  been  impeached ;  but,  while  conceding 
that  many  passages  are  marred  by  exaggeration,  and  that 
in  the  heat  of  declamation  the  feeling  is  not  infrequently 
forced,  it  seems  probable  that  his  work  was  for  the  most 
part  based  on  genuine  convictions.  However  this  may  be, 
there  can  be  no  question  as  to  the  brilliancy  of  his  rhetoric, 


ROME  433 

the  effectiveness  of  his  sententiae,  and  his  powers  of  vivid 
portrayal  and  word  painting.  His  canvas  is  crowded  with 
realistic  pictures  of  Roman  life :  as,  for  example,  the  swarm 
of  toga-clad  clients  besieging  the  door  of  a  rich  patron  at 
dawn,  some  of  them  not  having  even  the  excuse  of  poverty, 
others  looking  to  the  dole  as  their  only  means  of  subsistence, 
and  to  procure  it  resorting  freely  to  lying  and  impersona- 
tion, and  all  the  devices  of  shifty  poverty ;  the  scenes  in 
the  streets  at  Rome  on  the  downfall  of  Sejanus ;  the  crowded 
tenements  whose  shoddy  construction  offered  to  their  occu- 
pants at  best  an  option  between  collapse  and  conflagration ; 
the  legacy  hunters,  forgers,  rioters,  highwaymen,  debauchees, 
adulterers,  —  all  characters  old  to  satire,  it  is  true,  but  never 
placed  before  in  so  fierce  a  light. 


ROME1 
(HL) 

GRIEVED  though  I  am  to  see  the  man  depart, 

Who  long  has  shared,  and  still  must  share,  my  heart, 

Yet  (when  I  call  my  better  judgment  home) 

I  praise  his  purpose  to  retire  from  Rome, 

And  give,  on  Cumae's  2  solitary  coast,  5 

The  Sibyl  —  one  inhabitant  to  boast ! 

Full  on  the  road  to  Baiae,  Cumae  lies, 
And  many  a  sweet  retreat  her  shore  supplies  — 
Though  I  prefer  ev'n  Prochyta's  3  bare  strand 

1  This  satire  contains  an  account  of  the  evils  and  discomforts  of 
life  in  Rome.     The  speaker '(vv.  37  to  end)  is  one  Umbricius,  •who  is 
leaving  the  capital  in  disgust.    Juvenal  represents  himself  (vv.  1-36) 
as  having  accompanied  him  to  the  valley  of  Egeria,  just  beyond  one 
of  the  city  gates,  to  say  good-by. 

2  On  the  coast  of  Campania,  the  dwelling-place  of  the  famous  Sibyl, 
priestess  of  Apollo. 

8  A  small  island  off  the  coast  of  Campania. 


434  JUVENAL 

To  the  Subura l  —  for,  what  desert  land,  10 

What  wild,  uucultured  spot,  can  more  affright 

Than  fires  wide  blazing  through  the  gloom  of  night, 

Houses  with  ceaseless  ruin  thundering  down, 

And  all  the  horrors  of  this  hateful  town  ? 

Where  poets,  while  the  dog-star  glows,  rehearse         is 

To  gasping  multitudes  their  barbarous  verse  ! 

Now  had  my  friend,  impatient  to  depart, 
Consigned  his  little  all  to  one  poor  cart : 
For  this  without  the  town  he  chose  to  wait ; 
But  stopped  a  moment  at  the  Conduit-gate.2  20 

Here  Numa8  erst  his  nightly  visits  paid, 
And  held  high  converse  with  the  Egerian  maid : 
Now  the  once-hallowed  fountain,  grove,  and  fane 
Are  let  to  Jews,  a  wretched,  wandering  train, 
Whose  furniture  's  a  basket  filled  with  hay  —  25 

For  every  tree  is  forced  a  tax  to  pay  ; 
And  while  the  heaven-born  Nine  in  exile  rove, 
The  beggar  rents  their  consecrated  grove  ! 

Thence  slowly  winding  down  the  vale,  we  view 
The  Egerian  grots  —  ah,  how  unlike  the  true  !  so 

Nymph  of  the  Spring,  more  honored  hadst  thou  been, 
If,  free  from  art,  an  edge  of  living  green 
Thy  bubbling  fount  had  circumscribed  alone, 
And  marble  ne'er  profaned  the  native  stone. 

Umbricius  here  his  sullen  silence  broke,  u 

And  turned  on  Home,  indignant,  as  he  spoke. 
Since  virtue  droops,  he  cried,  without  regard, 
And  honest  toil  scarce  hopes  a  poor  reward ; 
Since  every  morrow  sees  my  means  decay, 

1  A  densely  populated  district  of  Rome. 

2  The  Porta  Capena,  in  the  southeastj>art  of  the  city.     The  Mar- 
cian  aqnednct  passed  over  it. 

*  The  second  king  of  Rome,  who  was  said  to  have  received  instruc- 
tion from  the  nymph  Egeria. 


ROME  435 

And  still  makes  less  the  little  of  to-day  ;  40 

I  go,  where  Daedalus,  as  poets  sing, 

First  checked  his  flight,  and  closed  his  weary  wing : 

While  something  yet  of  health  and  strength  remains, 

And  yet  no  staff  my  faltering  step  sustains ; 

While  few  gray  hairs  upon  my  head  are  seen,  45 

And  my  old  age  is  vigorous  still,  and  green. 

Here,  then,  I  bid  my  much-beloved  home  farewell  — 

Ah,  mine  no  more !  —  there  let  Arturius  J  dwell, 

And  Catulus,1  knaves,  who  in  truth's  despite 

Can  white  to  black  transform,  and  black  to  white,     so 

Build  temples,  furnish  funerals,  auctions  hold, 

Farm  rivers,  ports,  and  scour  the  drains  for  gold  ! 

Once  they  were  trumpeters,  and  always  found 
With  strolling  fencers  in  their  annual  round, 
While  their  puffed  cheeks,  which  every  village  knew,  55 
Called  to  "  high  feats  of  arms  "  the  rustic  crew  : 
Now  they  give  shows  2  themselves ;  and,  at  the  will 
Of  the  base  rabble,  raise  the  sign  3  —  to  kill, 
Ambitious  of  their  voice  :  then  turn  once  more 
To  their  vile  gains,  and  farm  the  common  shore !       eo 
And  why  not  everything  ?  —  since  Fortune  throws 
Her  more  peculiar  smiles  on  such  as  those, 
Whene'er,  to  wanton  merriment  inclined, 
She  lifts  to  thrones  the  dregs  of  human  kind ! 

But  why,  my  friend,  should  I  at  Rome  remain  ?     K 
I  cannot  teach  my  stubborn  lips  to  feign  ; 
Nor,  when  I  hear  a  great  man's  verses,  smile, 
And  beg  a  copy,  if  I  think  them  vile. 
A  sublunary  wight,  I  have  no  skill 

1  Any  swindlers.  2  Gladiatorial  shows. 

8  To  turn  np  the  thnmb  was  the  signal  that  a  fallen  gladiator 
should  be  despatcEedT It  was  properly  done  by  the  spectators,  not 
by  the  giver  of  the  games. 


436  JUVENAL 

To  read  the  stars  ;  I  neither  can,  nor  will,  70 

Presage  a  father's  death ;  I  never  pried 
In  toads  for  poison,  nor  —  in  aught  beside. 
Others  may  aid  the  adulterer's  vile  design, 
And  bear  the  insidious  gift  and  melting  line, 
Seduction's  agents !     I  such  deeds  detest ;  75 

And,  honest,  let  no  thief  partake  my  breast. 
For  this  without  a  friend,  the  world  I  quit, 
A  palsied  limb,  for  every  use  unfit. 

Who  now  is  loved,  but  he  whose  conscious  breast 
Swells  with  dark  deeds,  still,  still  to  be  supprest  ?      so 
He  pays,  he  owes,  thee  nothing  (strictly  just), 
Who  gives  an  honest  secret  to  thy  trust ; 
But,  a  dishonest !  —  there,  he  feels  thy  power, 
And  buys  thy  friendship  high  from  hour  to  hour. 
But  let  not  all  the  wealth  which  Tagus  pours  85 

In  Ocean's  lap,  not  all  his  glittering  stores, 
Be  deemed  a  bribe  sufficient  to  requite 
The  loss  of  peace  by  day,  of  sleep  by  night :  — 
Oh  take  not,  take  not  what  thy  soul  rejects, 
Nor  sell  the  faith  which  he  who  buys  suspects  !          90 
The  nation,  by  the  great  admired,  carest, 
And  hated,  shunned  by  me  above  the  rest, 
No  longer  now  restrained  by  wounded  pride, 
I  haste  to  show  (nor  thou  my  warmth  deride) 
I  cannot  rule  my  spleen,  and  calmly  see  95 

A  Grecian  capital  in  Italy  ! 

Grecian  ?     O  no  !  with  this  vast  sewer  compared, 
The  dregs  of  Greece  are  scarcely  worth  regard  : 
Long  since,  the  stream  that  wanton  Syria  laves 
Has  disembogued  its  filth  in  Tiber's  waves,  100 

Its  language,  arts  ;  o'erwhelmed  us  with  the  scum 
Of  Antioch's  streets,  its  minstrel,  harp,  and  drum. 
Hie  to  the  Circus  !  ye  who  pant  to  prove 


ROME  437 

A  barbarous  mistress,  an  outlandish  love  ; 

Hie  to  the  Circus  !  there  in  crowds  they  stand,          105 

Tires  on  their  head  and  timbrels  in  their  hand. 

Thy  rustic,  Mars,  the  trechedipna l  wears, 
And  on  his  breast,  smeared  with  ceroma,2  bears 
A  paltry  prize,  well  pleased  ;  while  every  land, 
Sicyon,  and  Amydon,  and  Alaband,  no 

Tralles,  and  Samos,  and  a  thousand  more, 
Thrive  on  his  indolence,  and  daily  pour 
Their  starving  myriads  forth  :  hither  they  come, 
And  batten  on  the  genial  soil  of  Rome  ; 
Minions,  then  lords,  of  every  princely  dome !  115 

A  flattering,  cringing,  treacherous,  artful  race, 
Of  torrent  tongue,  and  never-blushing  face  ; 
A  Protean  3  tribe,  one  knows  not  what  to  call, 
Which  shifts  to  every  form,  and  shines  in  all : 
Grammarian,  painter,  augur,  rhetorician,  120 

Rope-dancer,  conjurer,  fiddler,  and  physician, 
All  trades  his  own  your  hungry  Greekling  counts  ; 
And  bid  him  mount  the  sky  —  the  sky  he  mounts  ! 
You  smile  —  was  't  a  barbarian,  then,  that  flew  ? 
No,  't  was  a  Greek  ;  't  was  an  Athenian,4  too  !          125 
Bear  with  their  state  who  will :  for  I  disdain 
To  feed  their  upstart  pride,  or  swell  their  train : 
Slaves,  that  in  Syrian  lighters  stowed  so  late 
With  figs  and  prunes  (an  inauspicious  freight), 
Already  see  their  faith  preferred  to  mine,  iso 

And  sit  above  me !  and  before  me  sign  ! 5 
That  on  the  Aventine  6  I  first  drew  air, 

1  Greek  shoes.  -  A  mixture  of  wax,  oil,  and  clay. 

8  Like  Proteus,  able  to  assume  different  forms. 
*  Daedalus. 

6  Take  a  higher  place  at  dinner,  and  have  precedence  in  signing 
a  document. 
6  One  of  the  hills  of  Rome. 


438  JUVENAL 

And  from  the  womb  was  nursed  on  Sabine  fare, 

Avails  me  not !  our  birthright  now  is  lost, 

And  all  our  privilege  an  empty  boast !  IK 

For  lo  !  where  versed  in  every  soothing  art 
The  wily  Greek  assails  his  patron's  heart, 
Finds  in  each  dull  harangue  an  air,  a  grace, 
And  all  Adonis  in  a  Gorgon  face  ; 
Admires  the  voice  that  grates  upon  the  ear,  MO 

Like  the  shrill  scream  of  amorous  chanticleer ; 
And  equals  the  crane  neck  and  narrow  chest 
To  Hercules,  when,  straining  to  his  breast 
The  giant  son l  of  Earth,  his  every  vein 
Swells  with  the  toil  and  more  than  mortal  pain.        us 

We  too  can  cringe  as  low,  and  praise  as  warm, 
But  flattery  from  the  Greeks  alone  can  charm. 
No  longer  now  the  favorites  of  the  stage 
Boast  their  exclusive  power  to  charm  the  age : 
The  happy  art  with  them  a  nation  shares,  iso 

Greece  is  a  theatre,  where  all  are  players. 
For  lo  !  their  patron  smiles,  —  they  burst  with  mirth  ; 
He  weeps,  —  they  droop,  the  saddest  souls  on  earth  ; 
He  calls  for  fire,  —  they  court  the  mantle's  heat ; 
'T  is  warm,  he  cries,  —  and  they  dissolve  in  sweat.  IK 
Ill-matched  !  —  secure  of  victory  they  start, 
Who,  taught  from  youth  to  play  a  borrowed  part, 
Can  with  a  glance  the  rising  passion  trace, 
And  mould  their  own,  to  suit  their  patron's  face  ; 
At  deeds  of  shame  their  hands  admiring  raise,          iw 
And  mad  debauchery's  worst  excesses  praise. 

Turn  to  their  schools :  yon  gray  professor  see, 
Smeared  with  the  sanguine  stains  of  perfidy ! 
That  tutor  most  accursed  his  pupil  sold  ! 
That  Stoic  sacrificed  his  friend  to  gold  !  ies 

1  Antaeus,  who  lost  his  strength  when  lifted  from  the  earth. 


ROME  439 

A  true-born  Grecian  !  littered  on  the  coast 1 
Where  the  Gorgonian  hack  2  a  pinion  lost. 

Hence,  Romans,  hence  !  no  place  for  you  remains 
Where  Diphilus,  where  Erimanthus  reigns  ; 
Miscreants,  who,  faithful  to  their  native  art,  no 

Admit  no  rival  in  a  patron's  heart : 
For,  let  them  fasten  on  his  easy  ear, 
And  drop  one  hint,  one  secret  slander  there, 
Sucked  from  their  country's  venom,  or  their  own, 
That  instant  they  possess  the  man  alone,  175 

While  we  are  spurned,  contemptuous,  from  the  door, 
Our  long,  long  slavery  thought  upon  no  more. 
'T  is  but  a  client  lost !  —  and  that,  we  find, 
Sits  wondrous  lightly  on  a  patron's  mind : 
And  (not  to  flatter  our  poor  pride,  my  friend)         wo 
What  merit  with  the  great  can  we  pretend, 
Though  in  our  duty  we  forestall  the  day, 
And,  darkling,3  run  our  humble  court  to  pay ; 
When  the  brisk  praetor  long  before  is  gone, 
And  hastening  with  stern  voice  his  lictors  on,  IK 

Lest  his  colleagues  o'erpass  him  in  the  street, 
And  first  the  rich  and  childless  matrons  4  greet, 
Alba  and  Modia,  who  impatient  wait, 
And  think  the  morning  homage  comes  too  late  ! 

Produce  at  Rome  your  witness  ;  let  him  boast  wo 
The  sanctity  of  Berecynthia's  host,6 

1  At  Tarsus,  properly  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Cydnus  in  Cilicia. 

2  Pegasus,  the  winged  horse,  which  sprang  from  the  blood  of  the 
Gorgon  Medusa. 

8  Before  sunrise.  It  was  the  duty  of  a  client  to  present  himself 
at  his  patron's  house  early  in  the  morning. 

*  The  efforts  of  legacy  hunters  to  get  a  place  in  the  wills  of  the 
childless  rich  is  a  favorite  theme  with  Roman  satirists. 

6  P.  Cornelius  Scipio  Nasica,  chosen  on  account  of  his  piety  to  re- 
ceive the  stone  which  represented  the  goddess  Cybele  (Berecyn- 
thia). 


440  JUVENAL 

Of  Numa,  or  of  him  1  whose  zeal  divine 
Snatched  pale  Minerva  from  her  blazing  shrine  : 
To  search  his  rent-roll  first  the  bench  prepares, 
His  honesty  employs  their  latest  cares :  195 

What  table  does  he  keep,  what  slaves  maintain, 
And  what,  they  ask,  and  where,  is  his  domain  ? 
These  weighty  matters  known,  his  fate  they  rate, 
And  square  his  probity  to  his  estate. 
The  poor  may  swear  by  all  the  immortal  Powers,      200 
By  the  Great  Gods  of  Samothrace,2  and  ours. 
His  oaths  are  false,  they  cry,  he  scoffs  at  heaven 
And  all  its  thunders,  scoffs  —  and  is  forgiven ! 
Add  that  the  wretch  is  still  the  theme  of  scorn, 
If  the  soiled  cloak  be  patched,  the  gown  o'erworn ;  205 
If  through  the  bursting  shoe  the  foot  be  seen, 
Or  the  coarse  seam  tell  where  the  rent  has  been. 
O  Poverty,  thy  thousand  ills  combined 
Sink  not  so  deep  into  the  generous  mind, 
As  the  contempt  and  laughter  of  mankind !  210 

"  Up  !  up !  these  cushioned  benches,"  Lectius  3  cries, 
"  Befit  not  your  estates :  for  shame !  arise." 
For  "  shame ! "  —  but  you  say  well :  the  pander's  heir, 
The  spawn  of  bulks  and  stews,  is  seated  there  ; 
The  crier's  spruce  son,  fresh  from  the  fencer's  school,  as 
And  prompt  the  taste  to  settle  and  to  rule. 
So  Otho  4  fixed  it,  whose  preposterous  pride 
First  dared  to  chase  us  from  their  Honors'  side. 

1  L.  Caecilius  Metellus,  who  rescued  the  statue  of  Minerva  when 
the  temple  of  Vesta  was  burned. 

3  A  small  island  in  the  northern  Aegean,  the  seat  of  the  mystic  wor- 
ship of  the  Cabiri. 

8  Some  official  of   the  games,  who  ejects  poor  citizens  from  the 
seats  reserved  for  members  of  the  equestrian  order. 

4  The  law  which  reserved  the  first  fourteen  rows  in  the  theatre  for 
the  equestrian  order  had  been  proposed  by  Roscius  Otho  in  07  B.  c. 


ROME  441 

In  these  cursed  walls,  devote  alone  to  gain, 
When  do  the  poor  a  wealthy  wife  obtain  ?  220 

When  are  they  named  in  wills  ?  When  called  to  share 
The  aedile's l  council,  and  assist  the  chair  ? 
Long   since   should    they  have  risen,  thus  slighted, 

spurned, 
And  left  their  home,  but  —  not  to  have  returned ! 

Depressed  by  indigence,  the  good  and  wise  225 

In  every  clime  by  painful  efforts  rise ; 
Here  by  more  painful  still,  where  scanty  cheer, 
Poor  lodging,  mean  attendance  —  all  is  dear. 
In  earthenware  he  scorns  at  Rome  to  eat, 
Who,  called  abruptly  to  the  Marsian's  2  seat,  230 

From  such  well  pleased  would  take  his  simple  food, 
Nor  blush  to  wear  the  cheap  Venetian  hood. 

There  's  many  a  part  of  Italy,  't  is  said, 
Where  none  assume  the  toga  but  the  dead  : 
There,  when  the  toil  foregone  and  annual  play          235 
Mark  from  the  rest  some  high  and  solemn  day, 
To  theatres  of  turf  the  rustics  throng, 
Charmed  with  the  farce  that  charmed  their  sires  so 

long; 

While  the  pale  infant,  of  the  mask  3  in  dread, 
Hides  in  his  mother's  breast  his  little  head.  240 

No  modes  of  dress  high  birth  distinguish  there ; 
All  ranks,  all  orders,  the  same  habit  wear, 
And  the  dread  aedile's  dignity  is  known, 
O  sacred  badge !  by  his  white  garb  alone. 
But  here,  beyond  our  power  arrayed  we  go,  245 

In  all  the  gay  varieties  of  show ; 

1  In  his  function  as  a  police  magistrate. 

2  The  Marsi,  whose   country  lay  among  the   Apennines,  east  of 
Borne,  were  proverbial  for  the  simplicity  of  their  lives. 

8  Masks  were  worn  by  the  actors. 


442  JUVENAL 

And  when  our  purse  supplies  the  charge  no  more, 
Borrow,  unblushing,  from  our  neighbor's  store  : 
Such  is  the  reigning  vice  ;  and  so  we  flaunt, 
Proud  in  distress,  and  prodigal  in  want !  .  250 

Briefly,  my  friend,  here  all  are  slaves  to  gold, 
And  words  and  smiles  and  everything  is  sold. 
What  will  you  give  for  Cossus' l  nod  ?     How  high 
The  silent  notice  of  Veiento 1  buy  ? 

One  favorite  youth  is  shaved,  another  shorn ;        255 
And  while  to  Jove  the  precious  spoil  is  borne, 
Clients  are  taxed  for  offerings,  and  (yet  more 
To  gall  their  patience)  from  their  little  store 
Constrained  to  swell  the  minion's  ample  hoard, 
And  bribe  the  page  for  leave  to  bribe  his  lord.         260 

Who  fears  the  crash  2  of  houses  in  retreat 
At  simple  Gabii,  bleak  Praeneste's  seat, 
Volsinium's  craggy  heights,  embowered  in  wood, 
Or  Tibur,  beetling  o'er  prone  Anio's  flood  ? 
While  half  the  city  here  by  shores  3  is  stayed,  255 

And  feeble  cramps,  that  lend  a  treacherous  aid ; 
For  thus  the  stewards  patch  the  riven  wall, 
Thus  prop  the  mansion,  tottering  to  its  fall ; 
Then  bid  the  tenant  court  secure  repose, 
While  the  pile  nods  to  every  blast  that  blows.  270 

O !  may  I  live  where  no  such  fears  molest, 
No  midnight  fires  burst  on  my  hour  of  rest ! 
For  here  't  is  terror  all ;  mid  the  loud  cry 
Of  "  water  !  water !  "  the  scared  neighbors  fly, 
With  all  their  haste  can  seize  —  the  flames  aspire,    275 
And  the  third  floor  is  wrapt  in  smoke  and  fire, 
While  you,  unconscious,  doze.  Up,  ho  !  and  know, 

1  Pat  for  any  rich  patron. 

2  The  large  tenement  houses,  in  which  the  majority  of  the  people 
in  Rome  lived,  not  infrequently  collapsed. 

8  Props. 


ROME  443 

The  impetuous  blaze  which  spreads  dismay  below 
By  swift  degrees  will  reach  the  aerial  cell, 
Where  crouching  underneath  the  tiles  you  dwell,      280 
Where  your  tame  doves  their  golden  couplets  rear, 
And  you  could  no  mischance  but  drowning  fear ! 

Codrus  1  had  but  one  bed,  and  that  too  short 
For  his  short  wife ;  his  goods,  of  every  sort, 
Were  else  but  few  :  —  six  little  pipkins  graced         295 
His  cupboard  head,  a  little  can  was  placed 
On  a  snug  shelf  beneath,  and  near  it  lay 
A  Chiron,2  of  the  same  cheap  marble  —  clay. 
And  was  this  all  ?     O  no  :  he  yet  possesst 
A  few  Greek  books,  shrined  in  an  ancient  chest,       290 
Where  barbarous  mice  through  many  an  inlet  crept, 
And  fed  on  heavenly  numbers  while  he  slept.  — 
"  Codrus,  in  short,  had  nothing."     You  say  true ; 
And  yet  poor  Codrus  lost  that  nothing  too  I 
One  curse  alone  was  wanting  to  complete  295 

His  woes :  that  cold  and  hungry  through  the  street 
The  wretch  should  beg,  and  in  the  hour  of  need 
Find  none  to  lodge,  to  clothe  him,  or  to  feed ! 

But  should  the  raging  flames  on  grandeur  prey, 
And  low  in  dust  Asturius'  3  palace  lay,  soo 

The  squalid  4  matron  sighs,  the  senate  mourns, 
The  pleaders  cease,  the  judge  the  court  adjourns ; 
All  join  to  wail  the  city's  hapless  fate, 
And  rail  at  fire  with  more  than  common  hate. 
Lo  1  while  it  burns,  the  obsequious  courtiers  haste     sos 
With  rich  materials  to  repair  the  waste : 
This  brings  him  marble,  that,  a  finished  piece, 

1  Named  as  a  representative  of  the  poorer  class  of  Romans. 
9  A  statuette  of  the  centaur  Chiron. 
8  A  rich  man. 
*  In  mourning1. 


444  JUVENAL 

The  far-famed  boast  of  Polyclete l  and  Greece  ; 

This,  ornaments  which  graced  of  old  the  fane 

Of  Asia's  gods ;  that,  figured  plate  and  plain  ;          310 

This,  cases,  books,  and  busts  the  shelves  to  grace, 

And  piles  of  coin  his  specie  to  replace. 

So  much  the  childless  Persian  2  swells  his  store, 

(Though  deemed  the  richest  of  the  rich  before) 

That  all  ascribe  the  flames  to  thirst  of  pelf,  as 

And  swear  Asturius  fired  his  house  himself. 

O,  had  you  from  the  Circus  3  power  to  fly, 
In  many  a  halcyon  village  might  you  buy 
Some  elegant  retreat,  for  what  will  here 
Scarce  hire  a  gloomy  dungeon  through  the  year !      320 
There  wells  by  nature  formed,  which  need  no  rope, 
No  laboring  arm  to  crane  their  waters  up, 
Around  your  lawn  their  facile  streams  shall  shower, 
And  cheer  the  springing  plant  and  opening  flower. 
There  live  delighted  with  the  rustic's  lot,  325 

And  till  with  your  own  hands  the  little  spot ; 
The  little  spot  shall  yield  you  large  amends, 
And  glad  with  many  a  feast  your  Samian  friends.4 
And  sure,  in  any  corner  we  can  get, 
To  call  one  lizard  ours  is  something  yet !  no 

Flushed  with  a  mass  of  undigested  food, 
Which  clods  the  stomach  and  inflames  the  blood, 
What  crowds,  with  watching  wearied  and  o'erprest, 
Curse  the  slow  hours,  and  die  for  want  of  rest ! 
For  who  can  hope  his  languid  lids  to  close,  335 

1  The  famous  Greek  sculptor  of  the  latter  half  of  the  fifth  cen- 
tury B.  0. 

2  Asturius. 

3  Juvenal  in  more  than  one  passage  deplores  the  abnormal  interest 
of  the  majority  of  Romans  in  the  games  of  the  circus. 

*  Pythagoreans,  who  were  vegetarians.     Pythagoras  was  a  native 
of  Samoa. 


ROME  445 

Where  brawling  taverns  banish  all  repose  ? 

Sleep  to  the  rich  alone  his  visits  pays, 

And  hence  the  seeds  of  many  a  dire  disease. 

The  carts'  loud  rumbling  through  the  narrow  way, 

The  drivers'  clamors  at  each  casual  stay,  340 

From  drowsy  Drusus l  would  his  slumber  take, 

And  keep  the  calves  of  Proteus  2  broad  awake ! 

If  business  call,  obsequious  crowds  divide, 
While  o'er  their  heads  the  rich  securely  ride, 
By  tall  Illyrians  3  borne,  and  read,  or  write,  345 

Or  (should  the  early  hour  to  rest  invite) 
Close  the  soft  litter,  and  enjoy  the  night. 
Yet  reach  they  first  the  goal ;  while,  by  the  throng 
Elbowed  and  jostled,  scarce  we  creep  along 
Sharp  strokes  from  poles,  tubs,  rafters,  doomed  to 
feel ;     •  sse 

And  plastered  o'er  with  mud  from  head  to  heel ; 
While  the  rude  soldier  gores  us  as  he  goes, 
Or  marks  in  blood  his  progress  on  our  toes ! 

See,  from  the  dole,4  a  vast  tumultuous  throng, 
Each  followed  by  his  kitchen,  pours  along !  355 

Huge  pans,  which  Corbulo  5  could  scarce  uprear, 
With  steady  neck  a  puny  slave  must  bear, 
And,  lest  amid  the  way  the  flames  6  expire, 
Glide  nimbly  on,  and  gliding  fan  the  fire  ; 
Through  the  close  press  with  sinuous  efforts  wind,    aeo 
And,  piece  by  piece,  leave  his  botched  rags  behind. 

Hark !  groaning  on,  the  unwieldy  wagon  spreads 

1  The  emperor  Claudius,  who  was  notoriously  somnolent. 

2  A  minor  sea  deity  who  tended  the  seals  for  Neptune. 
8  Commonly  used  as  litter-bearers. 

4  The  portion  given  by  the  patron  to  his  client.     It  consisted  either 
of  food  or  of  a  small  sum  of  money. 
6  Some  Roman  strong  man. 
6  In  the  brazier  which  he  carried  to  keep  the  food  warm. 


446  JUVENAL 

Its  cumbrous  load,  tremendous  !  o'er  our  heads, 

Projecting  elm  or  pine,  that  nods  on  high, 

And  threatens  death  to  every  passer-by.  ass 

Heavens  !  should  the  axle  crack,  which  bears  a  weight 

Of  huge  Ligurian  stone,1  and  pour  the  freight 

On  the  pale  crowd  beneath,  what  would  remain, 

What  joint,  what  bone,  what  atom  of  the  slain  ? 

The  body,  with  the  soul,  would  vanish  quite,  370 

Invisible  as  air,  to  mortal  sight ! 

Meanwhile,  unconscious  of  their  fellow's  fate, 

At  home  they  heat  the  water,  scour  the  plate, 

Arrange  the  strigils,  fill  the  cruse  with  oil, 

And  ply  their  several  tasks  with  fruitless  toil ;  JTS 

For  he  who  bore  the  dole,  poor  mangled  ghost, 

Sits  pale  and  trembling  on  the  Stygian  coast, 

Scared  at  the  horrors  of  the  novel  scene, 

At  Charon's  threatening  voice  and  scowling  mien  ; 

Nor  hopes  a  passage,  thus  abruptly  hurled,  sso 

Without  his  farthing,2  to  the  nether  world. 

Pass  we  these  fearful  dangers,  and  survey 
What  other  evils  threat  our  nightly  way. 
And  first  behold  the  mansion's  towering  size, 
Where  floors  on  floors  to  the  tenth  3  story  rise ;         SK 
Whence  heedless  garreteers  their  potsherds  throw, 
And  crush  the  unwary  wretch  that  walks  below  ! 
Clattering,  the  storm  descends  from  heights  unknown, 
Ploughs  up  the  street,  and  wounds  the  flinty  stone ! 
'T  is  madness,  dire  improvidence  of  ill,  390 

To  sup  abroad,  before  you  sign  your  will ; 
Since  fate  in  ambush  lies,  and  marks  his  prey, 
From  every  wakeful  window  in  the  way : 

1  Carrara  marble.  2  Charon's  fee. 

8  The  translator  exaggerates.     Augustus  limited  the  height  of 
buildings  in  Rome  to  seventy  feet. 


ROME  447 

Pray,  then,  and  count  your  humble  prayer  well  sped, 
If  pots  be  only  emptied  on  your  head.  395 

The  drunken  bully,  ere  his  man  be  slain, 
Frets  through  the  night,  and  courts  repose  in  vain  ; 
And  while  the  thirst  of  blood  his  bosom  burns, 
From  side  to  side  in  restless  anguish  turns, 
Like  Peleus'  son,1  when,  quelled  by  Hector's  hand,  400 
His  loved  Patroclus  pressed  the  Phrygian  strand. 

There  are  who  murder  as  an  opiate  take, 
And  only  when  no  brawls  await  them  wake ; 
Yet  even  these  heroes,  flushed  with  youth  and  wine, 
All  contest  with  the  purple  robe  decline ;  405 

Securely  give  the  lengthened  train  to  pass, 
The  sun-bright  flambeaux  and  the  lamps  of  brass. 
Me,  whom  the  moon,  or  candle's  paler  gleam, 
Whose  wick  I  husband  to  the  last  extreme, 
Guides  through  the  gloom,2  he  braves,  devoid  of  fear : 
The  prelude  to  our  doughty  quarrel  hear,  411 

If  that  be  deemed  a  quarrel,  where,  heaven  knows, 
He  only  gives,  and  I  receive,  the  blows  ! 
Across  my  path  he  strides,  and  bids  me  stand ! 
I  bow,  obsequious  to  the  dread  command ;  415 

What  else  remains,  where  madness,  rage,  combine 
With  youth  and  strength  superior  far  to  mine  ? 

"  Whence  come  you,  rogue  ?  "  he  cries.     "  Whose 

beans  to-night 

Have  stuffed  you  thus  ?  What  cobbler  clubbed  his  mite 
For  leeks  and  sheep's-head  porridge  ?     Dumb  !  quite 
dumb !  420 

Speak,  or  be  kicked.     Yet,  once  again  !  your  home  ? 
Where  shall  I  find  you  ?    At  what  beggar's  stand 
(Temple   or   bridge)    whimp'ring   with   outstretched 
hand?" 

1  Achilles.  2  The  streets  of  Rome  were  not  lighted. 


448  JUVENAL 

Whether  I  strive  some  humble  plea  to  frame, 
Or  steal  in  silence  by,  't  is  just  the  same ;  425 

I  'm  beaten  first,  then  dragged  in  rage  away ; 
Bound  to  the  peace,  or  punished  for  the  fray ! 

Mark  here  the  boasted  freedom  of  the  poor ! 
Beaten  and  bruised,  that  goodness  to  adore, 
Which  at  their  humble  prayer  suspends  its  ire,          430 
And  sends  them  home  with  yet  a  bone  entire ! 

Nor  this  the  worst ;  for  when  deep  midnight  reigns, 
And  bolts  secure  our  doors,  and  massy  chains, 
When  noisy  inns  a  transient  silence  keep, 
And  harassed  nature  wooes  the  balm  of  sleep,  435 

Then  thieves  and  murderers  ply  their  dreadful  trade. 
With  stealthy  steps  our  secret  couch  invade  : 
Roused  from  the  treacherous  calm,  aghast  we  start, 
And  the  flashed  sword  is  buried  in  our  heart  I 

Hither  from  bogs,  from  rocks,  and  caves  pursued 
(The  Pontine  marsh  and  Gallinarian  wood  1),  441 

The  dark  assassins  flock  as  to  their  home, 
And  fill  with  dire  alarms  the  streets  of  Rome. 
Such  countless  multitudes  our  peace  annoy, 
That  bolts  and  shackles  every  forge  employ,  445 

And  cause  so  wide  a  waste,  the  country  fears 
A  want  of  ore  for  mattocks,  rakes,  and  shares. 

O  !  happy  were  our  sires,  estranged  from  crimes  ; 
And  happy,  happy,  were  the  good  old  times 
Which  saw,  beneath  their  kings',  their  tribunes'  reign, 
One  cell  the  nation's  criminals  contain  !  451 

Much  could  I  add,  more  reasons  could  I  cite, 
If  time  were  ours,  to  justify  my  flight ; 
But  see !  the  impatient  team  is  moving  on, 
The  sun  declining,  and  I  must  be  gone.  455 

1  The  Pontine  marshes  in  Latium  and  the  Gallinarian  wood  in  Cam- 
pania were  infested  by  brigands. 


ROME  449 

Long  since  the  driver  murmured  at  my  stay, 

And  jerked  his  whip  to  beckon  me  away. 

Farewell,  my  friend  !  with  this  embrace  we  part ! 

Cherish  my  memory  ever  in  your  heart ; 

And  when  from  crowds  and  business  you  repair,      460 

To  breathe  at  your  Aquinum  freer  air, 

Fail  not  to  draw  me  from  my  loved  retreat 

To  Elvine  Ceres,  and  Diana's  seat : 1 

For  your  bleak  hills  my  Cumae  I  '11  resign, 

And  (if  you  blush  not  at  such  aid  as  mine)  465 

Come  well  equipped  to  wage  in  angry  rhymes 

Fierce  war  with  you  on  follies  and  on  crimes. 

WILLIAM  GIFFORD. 

1  There  were  temples  of  Ceres  and  of  Diana  at  Aquinum.  It  bas 
been  suggested  that  the  former  was  erected  by  a  member  of  the  Hel- 
vian  gens,  —  hence  the  epithet. 


PLINY  THE   YOUNGER 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

PLINY'S  statement  that  he  was  in  his  eighteenth  year  at 
the  time  of  the  eruption  of  Vesuvius  enables  us  to  place  his 
birth  with  certainty  in_^62_A<^D;_  He  was  the  nephew  and 
adopted  son  of  C.  Flinius  Secundus,  the  author  of  the 
Natural  History,  whose  example  undoubtedly  did  much  to 
stimulate  his  literary  ambitions.  He  studied  rhetoric  under 
Quint ilian,  and  beginning  the  practice  of  law  at  an  early 
age,  soon  became  one  of  the  leading  advocates  in  Rome. 
He  passed  through  the  usual  course  of  official  honors,  at- 
taining the  consulship  in  100  under  Trajan,  and  finally  in 
111  or  112  being  appointed  governor  of  Bithynia.  He  died 
about  114. 

He  published  a  number  of  speeches,  some  poems,  and 
several  books  of  letters.  Of  these  one  speech,  the  Pane- 
gyric on  Trajan,  and  the  Letters  have  survived.  The 
Panegyric  was  delivered  in  the  senate  on  the  occasion  of 
his  election  to  the  consulship,  but  was  only  published  after 
careful  revision.  It  is  a  conspicuous  example  of  the  florid 
type  of  oratory,  shows  many  signs  of  studied  elaboration, 
and  is  full  of  flattery  of  the  emperor.  Of  much  greater 
value  and  interest  are  the  ten  books  of  Letters,  the  first 
nine  containing  epistles  on  a  great  variety  of  subjects  ad- 
dressed to  various  friends,  while  the  last  is  confined  to  cor- 
respondence with  Trajan  during  Pliny's  governorship  of 
Bithynia.  In  the  first  group  we  have  to  deal  with  produc- 
tions which  were  only  ostensibly  letters  and  which  were  writ- 
ten to  be  published,  —  each  one  dealing  with  a  single  theme, 


TO  CORNELIUS  TACITUS  451 

and  the  address  to  this  or  that  individual  apparently  being 
a  matter  of  form.  In  the  precision  and  crispness  of  their 
style  they  differ  greatly  from  the  florid  expansiveness  of 
the  Panegyric,  the  divergence  indeed  being  so  great  as  to 
point  to  a  conscious  and  deliberate  adaptation  of  manner  to 
conventional  standards  of  oratory  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
epistolography  on  the  other.  In  the  tenth  book,  however, 
we  find  real  letters,  for  in  these  Pliny  writes  to  Trajan  for 
advice  on  various  problems  of  provincial  administration, 
and  the  emperor  replies  in  notes,  the  eminently  practical 
spirit  of  which  forms  one  of  the  most  noticeable  features 
of  the  correspondence. 

From  his  works  we  are  able  to  form  a  fairly  adequate 
idea  of  our  author's  character  :  a  man  of  little  more  than 
mediocre  ability,  upon  whose  imagination  his  own  activities 
invariably  loomed  large  ;  pedantic  in  matters  of  literature, 
irresolute  and. vacillating  in  matters  of  administration,  vain 
to  the  extreme  of  vanity,  of  impenetrable  complacency,  yet 
withal  amiable,  kindly,  conscientious,  standing  for  what  was 
good,  and  genuinely  interested  in  literature. 

The  following  letters  are  from  Firth's  translation. 


TO  CORNELIUS  TACITUS1 

(I,  6.) 

You  will  laugh,  and  I  give  you  leave  to.  You 
know  what  sort  of  sportsman  I  am,  but  I,  even  I, 
have  bagged  three  boars,  each  one  of  them  a  perfect 
beauty.  "What!"  you  will  say,  "you!"  Yes,  I, 
and  that  too  without  any  violent  departure  from  my 
usual  lazy  ways.  I  was  sitting  by  the  nets ;  I  had  by 
my  side  not  a  hunting  spear  and  a  dart,  but  my  pen 
and  writing  tablets.  I  was  engaged  in  some  composi- 

1  The  historian,  one  of  Pliny's  intimate  friends. 


452  PLINY  THE   YOUNGER 

tion  and  jotting  down  notes,  so  that  I  might  have  full 
tablets  to  take  home  with  me,  even  though  my  hands 
were  empty.  You  need  not  shrug  your  shoulders  at 
study  under  such  conditions.  It  is  really  surprising 
how  the  mind  is  stimulated  by  bodily  movement  and 
exercise.  I  find  the  most  powerful  incentive  to 
thought  in  having  the  woods  all  about  me,  in  the  soli- 
tude and  the  silence  which  is  observed  in  hunting.  So 
when  next  you  go  hunting,  take  my  advice  and  carry 
your  writing  tablets  with  you  as  well  as  your  luncheon 
basket  and  your  flask.  You  will  find  that  Minerva 
loves  to  wander  on  the  mountains  quite  as  much  as 
Diana.  Farewell. 

TO  SOSIUS  SENECIO 
(I.,  13.) 

THIS  year  has  brought  us  a  fine  crop  of  poets  :  right 
through  April  hardly  a  day  passed  without  some  reci- 
tal1 or  other.  I  am  delighted  that  literature  is  so 
flourishing  and  that  men  are  giving  such  open  proofs 
of  brains,  even  though  audiences  are  found  so  slow  in 
coming  together.  People  as  a  rule  lounge  in  the 
squares  and  waste  the  time  in  gossip  when  they  should 
be  listening  to  the  recital.  They  get  some  one  to  come 
and  tell  them  whether  the  reciter  has  entered  the  hall 
yet,  whether  he  has  got  through  his  introduction,  or 
whether  he  has  nearly  reached  the  end  of  his  reading. 
Not  until  then  do  they  enter  the  room,  and  even  then 
they  come  in  slowly  and  languidly.  Nor  do  they  sit 
it  out ;  no,  before  the  close  of  the  recital  they  slip 
away,  some  sidling  out  so  as  not  to  attract  attention, 

1  The  public  recitations  were  one  of  the  features  of  literary  life  in 
Rome  under  the  empire. 


TO  SEPTICIUS  CLARUS  453 

others  rising  openly  and  walking  out  bodily.  And 
yet,  by  Hercules,  our  fathers  tell  a  story  of  how  Clau- 
dius Caesar  one  day  while  walking  up  and  down  iu 
the  palace,  happened  to  hear  some  clapping  of  hands, 
and  on  inquiring  the  cause  and  being  told  that  Noni- 
anus  was  giving  a  reading,  he  suddenly  joined  the 
company  to  every  one's  surprise.  But  nowadays  even 
those  who  have  most  time  on  their  hands,  after  re- 
ceiving early  notices  and  frequent  reminders,  either 
fail  to  put  in  an  appearance,  or  if  they  do  come  they 
complain  that  they  have  wasted  a  day  just  because 
they  have  not  wasted  it.  All  the  more  praise  and 
credit,  therefore,  is  due  to  those  who  do  not  allow 
their  love  of  writing  and  reciting  to  be  damped  either 
by  the  laziness  or  the  fastidiousness  of  their  audiences. 
For  my  own  part,  I  have  hardly  ever  failed  to  attend. 
True,  the  authors  are  mostly  my  friends,  for  almost 
all  the  literary  people  are  also  friends  of  mine,  and 
for  this  reason  I  have  spent  more  time  in  Rome  than 
1  had  intended.  But  now  I  can  betake  myself  to  my 
country  retreat  and  compose  something,  though  not 
for  a  public  recital,  lest  those  whose  readings  I  at- 
tended should  think  I  went  not  so  much  to  hear  their 
works  as  to  get  a  claim  on  them  to  come  and  hear 
mine.  As  in  everything  else,  if  you  lend  a  man  your 
ears,  all  the  grace  of  the  act  vanishes  if  you  ask  for 
his  in  return.  Farewell. 


TO  SEPTICIUS  CLARUS 
(L,  15.) 

WHAT  a  fellow  you  are !     You  promise  to  come  to 
dinner  and  then  fail  to  turn  up !     Well,  here  is  my 


454  PLINY  THE   YOUNGER 

magisterial  sentence  upon  you.  You  must  pay  the 
money  I  am  out  of  pocket  to  the  last  farthing,  and 
you  will  find  the  sum  no  small  one.  I  had  provided 
for  each  guest  one  lettuce,  three  snails,  two  eggs,  spelt 
mixed  with  honey  and  snow  (you  will  please  reckon  up 
the  cost  of  the  latter  as  among  the  most  costly  of  all, 
since  it  melts  away  in  the  dish),  olives  from  Baetica, 
cucumbers,  onions,  and  a  thousand  other  equally  ex- 
pensive dainties.  You  would  have  listened  to  a  come- 
dian, or  a  reciter,  or  a  harp-player,  or  perhaps  to  all, 
as  I  am  such  a  lavish  host.  But  you  preferred  to  dine 
elsewhere  —  where  I  know  not  —  off  oysters,  sows' 
matrices,  sea-urchins,  and  to  watch  Spanish  dancing 
girls !  You  will  be  paid  out  for  it,  though  how  I  de- 
cline to  say.  You  have  done  violence  to  yourself. 
You  have  grudged,  possibly  yourself,  but  certainly 
me,  a  fine  treat.  Yes,  yourself  !  For  how  we  should 
have  enjoyed  ourselves,  how  we  should  have  laughed 
together,  how  we  should  have  applied  ourselves  !  You 
can  dine  at  many  houses  in  better  style  than  at  mine, 
but  nowhere  will  you  have  a  better  time,  or  such  a 
simple  free  and  easy  entertainment.  In  short,  give 
me  a  trial,  and  if  afterwards  you  do  not  prefer  to  ex- 
cuse yourself  to  others  rather  than  to  me,  why  then 
I  give  you  leave  to  decline  my  invitations  always. 
Farewell. 

TO  CALPURNIA1 

(VI.,  4.) 

NEVER  before  have  I  chafed  so  much  at  being  so 
busy  that  1  could  not  accompany  you  when  you  set 
out  for  Campania  to  recruit  your  health,  nor  yet  fol- 
1  His  wife. 


TO  TACITUS  455 

low  and  overtake  you  after  you  had  started.  For  now 
especially  I  should  like  to  be  with  you  to  see  with  my 
own  eyes  how  much  strength  you  are  gaining,  what 
weight  that  delicate  frame  of  yours  is  putting  on,  and 
whether  you  are  enjoying  yourself  without  let  or  hin- 
drance in  the  retirement  and  among  the  rich,  generous 
pleasures  of  Campania.  I  am  quite  anxiously  long- 
ing to  hear  that  you  are  strong  again,  for  it  makes 
one  nervous  and  troubled  to  get  no  news  of  those 
whom  we  love  very  dearly,  when  they  are  away  from 
us,  and  your  absence,  coupled  with  your  weak  state  of 
health,  keeps  me  constantly  upon  the  rack.  I  am 
afraid  of  all  sorts  of  things  ;  I  fancy  anything  may 
have  happened,  and,  like  all  anxious  people,  I  am 
especially  given  to  conjuring  up  the  thoughts  that  I 
most  dread.  I  intreat  you,  therefore,  to  remember 
how  nervous  I  am  about  you,  and  to  write  me  once, 
or  even  twice  a  day.  For  while  I  am  reading  your 
letters,  I  shall  feel  easier  in  my  mind,  though,  when 
I  have  read  through  to  the  end,  my  fears  will  imme- 
diately recur.  Farewell. 

TO  TACITUS 
(VI.,  16.) 

You  ask  me  to  send  you  an  account  of  my  uncle's 
death,  so  that  you  may  be  able  to  give  posterity  an 
accurate  description  of  it.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you, 
for  I  can  see  that  the  immortality  of  his  fame  is  well 
assured,  if  you  take  in  hand  to  write  of  it.  For  al- 
though he  perished  in  a  disaster1  which  devastated 
some  of  the  fairest  regions  of  the  land,  and  though  he 

1  The  eruption  of  Vesuvius  in  79  A.  D. 


456 

is  sure  of  eternal  remembrance  like  the  peoples  and 
cities  that  fell  with  him  in  that  memorable  calamity, 
though,  too,  he  had  written  a  large  number  of  works 
of  lasting  value,  yet  the  undying  fame  of  which  your 
writings  are  assured  will  secure  for  his  a  still  further 
lease  of  life.  For  my  part,  I  think  that  those  people 
are  highly  favored  by  Providence  who  are  capable 
either  of  performing  deeds  worthy  of  the  historian's 
pen  or  of  writing  histories  worthy  of  being  read,  but 
that  they  are  peculiarly  favored  who  can  do  both. 
Among  the  latter  I  may  class  my  uncle,  thanks  to  his 
own  writings  and  to  yours.  So  I  am  all  the  more 
ready  to  fulfill  your  injunctions,  nay,  I  am  even  pre- 
pared to  beg  to  be  allowed  to  undertake  them. 

My  uncle  was  stationed  at  Misenum,  where  he  was 
in  active  command  of  the  fleet,  with  full  powers. 
On  the  23d  of  August,  about  the  seventh  hour,  my 
mother  drew  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  a  cloud  of 
unusual  size  and  shape  had  made  its  appearance.  He 
had  taken  his  sun  bath,  followed  by  a  cold  one,  and 
after  a  light  meal  he  was  lying  down  and  reading. 
Yet  he  called  for  his  sandals,  and  climbed  up  to  a 
spot  from  which  he  could  command  a  good  view  of 
the  curious  phenomenon.  Those  who  were  looking 
at  the  cloud  from  some  distance  could  not  make  out 
from  which  mountain  it  was  rising,  —  it  was  after- 
ward discovered  to  have  been  Mount  Vesuvius,  —  but 
in  likeness  and  form  it  more  resembled  a  pine-tree 
than  anything  else,  for  what  corresponded  to  the  trunk 
was  of  great  length  and  height,  and  then  spread  out 
into  a  number  of  branches,  the  reason  being,  I  im- 
agine, that  while  the  vapor  was  fresh,  the  cloud  was 
borne  upwards,  but  when  the  vapor  became  wasted, 
it  lost  its  motion,  or  even  became  dissipated  by  its 


TO  TACITUS  457 

own  weight  and  spread  out  laterally.  At  times  it 
looked  white,  and  at  other  times  dirty  and  spotted, 
according  to  the  quantity  of  earth  and  cinders  that 
were  shot  up. 

To  a  man  of  my  uncle's  learning,  the  phenomenon 
appeared  one  of  great  importance,  which  deserved  a 
close  study.  He  ordered  a  Liburnian  galley  to  be  got 
ready,  and  offered  to  take  me  with  him,  if  I  desired 
to  accompany  him,  but  I  replied  that  I  preferred  to 
go  on  with  my  studies,  and  it  so  happened  that  he 
assigned  me  some  writing  to  do.  He  was  just  leaving 
the  house  when  he  received  a  written  message  from 
Rectina,  the  wife  of  Tascus,  who  was  terrified  at  the 
peril  threatening  her,  —  for  her  villa  lay  just  beneath 
the  mountain,  and  there  were  no  means  of  escape  save 
by  shipboard,  —  begging  him  to  save  her  from  her 
perilous  position.  So  he  changed  his  plan  and  car- 
ried out  with  the  greatest  fortitude  the  ideas  which 
had  occurred  to  him  as  a  student. 

He  had  the  galleys  launched  and  went  on  board 
himself,  in  the  hope  of  succoring,  not  only  Rectina, 
but  many  others,  for  there  were  a  number  of  people 
living  along  the  shore,  owing  to  its  delightful  situa- 
tion. He  hastened,  therefore,  towards  the  place  whence 
others  were  flying,  and  steering  a  direct  course,  kept 
the  helm  straight  for  the  point  of  danger,  so  utterly 
devoid  of  fear  that  every  movement  of  the  looming 
portent  and  every  change  in  its  appearance  he  de- 
scribed and  had  noted  down  by  his  secretary,  as  soon 
as  his  eyes  detected  it.  Already  ashes  were  begin- 
ning to  fall  upon  the  ships,  hotter  and  in  thicker 
showers  as  they  approached  more  nearly,  with  pumice- 
stones  and  black  flints,  charred  and  cracked  by  the 
heat  of  the  flames,  while  their  way  was  barred  by  the 


458  PLINY  THE   YOUNGER 

sudden  shoaling  of  the  sea  bottom  and  the  litter  of 
the  mountain  on  the  shore.  He  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment whether  to  turn  back,  and  then,  when  the  helms- 
man warned  him  to  do  so,  he  exclaimed,  "  Fortune 
favors  the  bold  ;  try  to  reach  Pomponianus."  The 
latter  was  at  Stabiae,  separated  by  the  whole  width 
of  the  bay,  for  the  sea  there  pours  in  upon  a  gently 
rounded  and  curving  shore.  Although  the  danger 
was  not  yet  close  upon  him,  it  was  none  the  less 
clearly  seen,  and  it  traveled  quickly  as  it  came  nearer, 
so  Pomponianus  had  got  his  baggage  together  on  ship- 
board, and  had  determined  upon  flight,  and  was  wait- 
ing for  the  wind  which  was  blowing  on  shore  to  fall. 
My  uncle  sailed  in  with  the  wind  fair  behind  him, 
and  embraced  Pomponianus,  who  was  in  a  state  of 
fright,  comforting  and  cheering  him  at  the  same  time. 
Then  in  order  to  calm  his  friend's  fears  by  showing 
how  composed  he  was  himself,  he  ordered  the  servants 
to  carry  him  to  his  bath,  and,  after  his  ablutions,  he 
sat  down  and  had  dinner  in  the  best  of  spirits,  or 
with  that  assumption  of  good  spirits  which  is  quite  as 
remarkable  as  the  reality. 

In  the  meantime  broad  sheets  of  flame,  which  rose 
high  in  the  air,  were  breaking  out  in  a  number  of 
places  on  Mount  Vesuvius  and  lighting  up  the  sky, 
and  the  glare  and  brightness  seemed  all  the  more 
striking  owing  to  the  darkness  of  the  night.  My 
uncle,  in  order  to  allay  the  fear  of  his  companions, 
kept  declaring  that  the  country  people  in  their  terror 
had  left  their  fires  burning,  and  that  the  conflagration 
they  saw  arose  from  the  blazing  and  empty  villas. 
Then  he  betook  himself  to  rest  and  enjoyed  a  very 
deep  sleep,  for  his  breathing,  which,  owing  to  his  bulk, 
was  rather  heavy  and  loud,  was  heard  by  those  who 


TO  TACITUS  459 

were  waiting  at  the  door  of  his  chamber.  But  by  this 
time  the  courtyard  leading  to  the  room  he  occupied 
was  so  full  of  ashes  and  pumice-stones  mingled  to- 
gether, and  covered  to  such  a  depth,  that  if  he  had 
delayed  any  longer  in  the  bed-chamber  there  would 
have  been  no  means  of  escape.  So  my  uncle  was 
aroused,  and  came  out  and  joined  Pomponianus  and 
the  rest  who  had  been  keeping  watch.  They  held  a 
consultation  whether  they  should  remain  indoors  or 
wander  forth  in  the  open  ;  for  the  buildings  were 
beginning  to  shake  with  the  repeated  and  intensely 
severe  shocks  of  earthquake,  and  seemed  to  be  rock- 
ing to  and  fro,  as  though  they  had  been  torn  from 
their  foundations.  Outside  again  there  was  danger  to 
be  apprehended  from  the  pumice-stones,  though  these 
were  light  and  nearly  burnt  through,  and  thus,  after 
weighing  the  two  perils,  the  latter  course  was  deter- 
mined upon.  With  my  uncle  it  was  a  choice  of  rea- 
sons which  prevailed,  with  the  rest  a  choice  of  fears. 

They  placed  pillows  on  their  heads  and  secured 
them  with  napkins,  as  a  precaution  against  the  falling 
bodies.  Elsewhere  the  day  had  dawned  by  this  time, 
but  there  it  was  still  night,  and  the  darkness  was 
blacker  and  thicker  than  any  ordinary  night.  This, 
however,  they  relieved  as  best  they  could  by  a  number 
of  torches  and  other  kinds  of  lights.  They  decided 
to  make  their  way  to  the  shore,  and  to  see  from  the 
nearest  point  whether  the  sea  would  enable  them  to 
put  out,  but  it  was  still  running  high  and  contrary. 
A  sheet  was  spread  on  the  ground,  and  on  this  my 
uncle  lay,  and  twice  he  called  for  a  draught  of  cold 
water,  which  he  drank.  Then  the  flames,  and  the 
smell  of  sulphur  which  gave  warning  of  them,  scat- 
tered the  others  in  flight  and  roused  him.  Leaning 


460  PLINY  THE   YOUNGER 

on  two  slaves,  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  immediately  fell 
down  again,  owing,  as  I  think,  to  his  breathing  being 
obstructed  by  the  thickness  of  the  fumes  and  conges- 
tion of  the  stomach,  that  organ  being  naturally  weak 
and  narrow,  and  subject  to  inflammation.  When  day- 
light returned  —  which  was  three  days  after  his  death 
—  his  body  was  found  untouched,  uninjured,  and  cov- 
ered, dressed  just  as  he  had  been  in  life.  The  corpse 
suggested  a  person  asleep  rather  than  a  dead  man. 

Meanwhile  my  mother  and  I  were  at  Misenum. 
But  that  is  of  no  consequence  for  the  purposes  of 
history,  nor  indeed  did  you  express  a  wish  to  be  told 
anything  except  of  my  uncle's  death.  So  I  will  say 
no  more,  except  to  add  that  I  have  given  you  a  full 
account  both  of  the  incidents  which  I  myself  witnessed 
and  of  those  narrated  to  me  immediately  afterwards, 
when,  as  a  rule,  one  gets  the  truest  account  of  what 
has  happened.  You  will  pick  out  what  you  think  will 
answer  your  purpose  best,  for  to  write  a  letter  is  a 
different  thing  from  writing  a  history,  and  to  write  to 
a  friend  is  not  like  writing  to  all  and  sundry.  Fare- 
well. 

TO  SURA 
(VII.,  27.) 

THE  leisure  we  are  both  of  us  enjoying  gives  you  an 
opportunity  of  imparting,  and  me  an  opportunity  of 
receiving,  information.  So  I  should  very  much  like  to 
know  whether  in  your  opinion  there  are  such  things 
as  ghosts,  whether  you  think  they  have  a  shape  of 
their  own  and  a  touch  of  the  supernatural  in  them,  or 
whether  you  consider  they  are  vain,  empty  shadows 
and  mere  creatures  of  the  imaginations.  For  my 


TO   SURA  461 

own  part,  I  feel  led  to  believe  that  they  have  a  real 
existence,  and  this  mainly  from  what  befell  Curtius 
Rufus. 

In  the  days  when  he  was  still  poor  and  obscure,  he 
had  attached  himself  to  the  person  of  the  governor 
of  Africa.  One  evening  at  sundown  he  was  walking 
in  the  portico,  when  the  figure  of  a  woman  —  but 
taller  and  more  beautiful  than  mortal  woman  —  pre- 
sented itself  before  him  and  told  Rufus,  who  was  ter- 
rified with  fright,  that  she  was  Africa  and  could  fore- 
tell the  future.  She  declared  that  he  would  go  to 
Rome  and  hold  high  offices  of  state,  and  that  he  would 
also  return  with  plenary  powers  as  governor  to  that 
same  province,  and  there  meet  his  death.  All  these 
details  were  fulfilled.  Moreover,  when  he  was  enter- 
ing Carthage  and  just  stepping  out  of  his  ship,  the 
same  figure  is  said  to  have  met  him  on  the  beach. 
Certain  it  is  that  when  he  was  attacked  by  illness,  he 
interpreted  the  future  by  the  past,  and  his  coming 
adversity  by  his  present  prosperity,  and,  though  none 
of  his  people  were  despairing  of  his  recovery,  he  cast 
aside  all  hope  of  getting  better. 

Now  I  want  you  to  consider  whether  the  following 
story,  which  I  shall  tell  you  just  as  I  heard  it,  is  not 
even  more  terrifying  and  no  less  wonderful  than  the 
other.  There  stood  at  Athens  a  spacious  and  roomy 
house,  but  it  had  an  evil  reputation  of  being  fatal  to 
those  who  lived  in  it.  In  the  silence  of  the  night  the 
clank  of  iron  and,  if  you  listened  with  closer  atten- 
tion, the  rattle  of  chains  were  heard,  the  sound  com- 
ing first  from  a  distance  and  afterwards  quite  close  at 
hand.-  Then  appeared  the  ghostly  form  of  an  old 
man,  emaciated,  filthy,  decrepit,  with  a  flowing  beard 
and  hair  on  end,  with  fetters  round  his  legs  and  chains 


462  PLINY  THE   YOUNGER 

on  his  hands,  which  he  kept  shaking.  The  terrified 
inmates  passed  sleepless  nights  of  fearful  terror,  and 
following  upon  their  sleeplessness  came  disease  and 
then  death,  as  their  fears  increased.  For  every  now 
and  again,  though  the  ghost  had  vanished,  memory 
conjured  up  the  vision  before  their  eyes,  and  their 
fright  remained  longer  than  the  apparition  which  had 
caused  it.  Then  the  house  was  deserted  and  con- 
demned to  stand  empty,  and  was  wholly  abandoned 
to  the  spectre,  while  the  authorities  forbade  that  it 
should  be  sold  or  let  to  any  one  wishing  to  take  it, 
not  knowing  under  what  a  curse  it  lay. 

The  philosopher  Athenodorus  came  to  Athens,  read 
the  notice  board,  and  on  hearing  the  price,  hesitated, 
because  the  low  rent  made  him  suspicious.  Then  he 
was  told  the  whole  story,  and,  so  far  from  being  de- 
terred, he  became  the  more  eager  to  rent  it.  When 
evening  began  to  fall,  he  ordered  his  people  to  make 
him  up  a  bed  in  the  front' part  of  the  house,  and 
asked  for  his  tablets,  a  pen,  and  a  lamp.  Dismissing 
all  his  servants  to  the  inner  rooms,  he  applied  mind, 
eyes,  and  hand  to  the  task  of  writing,  lest  by  having 
nothing  to  think  about  he  might  begin  to  conjure  up 
the  apparition  of  which  he  had  been  told  and  other 
idle  fears.  At  first  the  night  was  just  as  still  there 
as  elsewhere,  then  the  iron  was  rattled  and  the  chains 
clanked.  Athenodorus  did  not  raise  his  eyes,  nor  cease 
to  write,  but  fortified  his  resolution  and  closed  his 
ears.  The  noise  became  louder  and  drew  nearer,  and 
was  heard  now  on  the  threshold  and  then  within  the 
room  itself.  He  turned  his  head,  and  saw  and  recog- 
nized the  ghost  which  had  been  described  to  him.  It 
stood  and  beckoned  with  its  finger,  as  if  calling  him  ; 
but  Athenodorus  merely  motioned  with  his  hand,  as 


TO  SURA  463 

if  to  bid  it  wait  a  little,  and  once  more  bent  over  his 
tablets  and  plied  his  pen.  As  he  wrote  the  spectre 
rattled  its  chains  over  his  head,  and  looking  round  he 
saw  that  it  was  beckoning  as  before,  so,  without  fur- 
ther delay,  he  took  up  the  lamp  and  followed.  The 
spectre  walked  with  slow  steps,  as  though  burdened 
by  the  chains,  then  it  turned  off  into  the  courtyard  of 
the  house  and  suddenly  vanished,  leaving  Its  com- 
panion alone,  who  thereupon  plucked  some  grass  and 
foliage  to  mark  the  place.  On  the  following  day  he 
went  to  the  magistrates  and  advised  them  to  give  or- 
ders that  the  place  should  be  dug  up.  Bones  were 
found  with  chains  wound  round  them.  Time  and  the 
action  of  the  soil  had  made  the  flesh  moulder,  and  left 
the  bones  bare  and  eaten  away  by  the  chains,  but  the 
remains  were  collected  and  given  a  public  burial. 
Ever  afterwards  the  house  was  free  of  the  ghost,  which 
had  been  thus  laid  with  due  ceremony. 

I  quite  believe  those  who  vouch  for  these  details, 
but  the  following  story  I  can  vouch  for  to  others.  I 
have  a  freedman  who  is  a  man  of  some  education. 
A  younger  brother  of  his  was  sleeping  with  him  in 
the  same  bed,  and  he  thought  he  saw  some  one  sitting 
upon  the  bed,  and  applying  a  pair  of  shears  to  his 
head,  and  even  cutting  off  some  hair  from  his  crown, 
and  the  locks  were  found  lying  close  by.  A  little 
time  elapsed,  and  a  similar  incident  occurred  to  make 
people  believe  the  other  story  was  true.  A  young 
slave  of  mine  was  sleeping  with  a  number  of  others 
in  the  dormitory,  when,  according  to  his  story,  two 
men  clothed  in  white  tunics  entered  by  the  window 
and  cut  his  hair  as  he  slept,  retiring  by  the  way  they 
came.  Daylight  revealed  that  his  hair  had  been  cut, 
and  the  locks  lay  scattered  around.  No  incident  of 


464  PLINY  THE  YOUNGER 

any  note  followed,  unless  it  was  that  I  escaped  prosecu- 
tion, as  I  should  not  have  done  if  Doinitian,  in  whose 
reign  these  incidents  had  taken  place,  had  lived  any 
longer  than  he  did.  For  in  his  writing-desk  there 
was  discovered  a  document  sent  in  by  Carus  which 
denounced  me.  This  gives  rise  to  the  conjecture  that, 
as  it  is  the  custom  for  accused  persons  to  let  their 
hair  go  untrimmed,  the  fact  that  the  hair  of  my  slaves 
was  cut  was  a  sign  that  the  peril  overhanging  me  had 
passed  away. 

I  beg  of  you  to  bring  your  erudition  to  bear  on 
these  stories.  The  matter  is  one  which  is  worth  long 
and  careful  consideration,  nor  am  I  altogether  un- 
deserving of  your  imparting  to  me  your  plentiful 
knowledge.  I  will  let  you  follow  your  usual  habit  of 
arguing  on  both  sides  of  the  case,  but  be  sure  that 
you  take  up  one  side  more  strongly  than  the  other,  so 
that  I  may  not  go  away  in  suspense  and  uncertainty, 
when  the  reason  I  asked  your  advice  was  just  this 
—  that  you  put  an  end  to  my  doubts.  Farewell. 

TO  GEMINUS 
(IX.,  11.) 

I  RECEIVED  your  letter,  which  afforded  me  great 
pleasure,  especially  as  you  say  that  you  wish  me  to  write 
you  something  to  be  inserted  in  your  books.  I  shall 
find  a  subject,  either  the  one  you  suggest  or  some 
other,  for  there  are  certain  objections  to  yours,  as  you 
will  see  if  you  look  around  you.  I  did  not  think  that 
there  were  any  booksellers  at  Lugdunum,1  and  I  am 
delighted  to  hear  from  you  that  my  books  are  being 

1  Lyons. 


TO  MAXIMUS  465 

• 

sold  there,  for  it  is  gratifying  to  find  that  they  re- 
tain in  foreign  parts  the  popularity  they  have  won  at 
Rome.  I  begin  to  think  that  they  must  be  fairly 
good  when  there  is  such  unanimity  about  their  merits 
in  lands  so  far  apart  and  in  the  judgment  of  persons 
so  dissimilar.  Farewell. 


TO  MAXIMUS 

(IX,  23.) 

WHEN  I  have  been  pleading,  it  has  often  happened 
that  the  Centumviri,1  after  strictly  preserving  for  a 
long  time  their  judicial  dignity  and  gravity,  have  sud- 
denly leaped  to  their  feet  en  masse  and  applauded  me, 
as  if  they  could  not  help  themselves  but  were  obliged 
to  do  so.  I  have  often  again  left  the  Senate-house  with 
just  as  much  glory  as  I  had  hoped  to  obtain,  but 
I  never  felt  greater  gratification  than  I  did  a  little 
while  ago  at  something  which  Cornelius  Tacitus  told 
me  in  conversation.  He  said  that  he  was  sitting  by 
the  side  of  a  certain  individual  at  the  last  Circen- 
sian  games,  and  that,  after  they  had  had  a  long  and 
learned  talk  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  his  acquaintance 
said  to  him :  "  Are  you  from  Italy  or  the  provinces  ?  " 
Tacitus  replied  :  "  You  know  me  quite  well,  and  that 
from  the  books  of  mine  you  have  read."  "  Then," 
said  the  man,  "  you  are  either  Tacitus  or  Pliny."  I 
cannot  express  to  you  how  pleased  I  am  that  our 
names  are,  so  to  speak,  the  property  of  literature,  that 
they  are  literary  titles  rather  than  the  names  of  two 
men,  and  that  both  of  us  are  familiar  by  our  writings 
to  persons  who  would  otherwise  know  nothing  of  us. 

1  The  court  of  one  hundred  judges. 


466  PLINY  THE   YOUNGER 

A  similar  incident  happened  a  day  or  two  before. 
That  excellent  creature,  Fadius  Rufinus,  was  dining 
with  me  on  the  same  couch,  and  next  above  him  was  a 
fellow-townsman  of  his  who  had  just  that  day  come  to 
town  for  the  first  time.  Rufinus,  pointing  me  out  to 
this  man,  said,  "  Do  you  see  my  friend  here  ?  "  Then 
they  spoke  at  length  about  my  literary  work,  and  the 
stranger  remarked,  "  Surely,  he  is  Pliny."  I  don't 
mind  confessing  that  I  think  I  am  well  repaid  for 
my  work,  and  if  Demosthenes  was  justified  in  being 
pleased  when  an  old  woman  of  Attica  recognized  hi  in 
with  the  words,  "  Why,  here  is  Demosthenes,"  ought 
not  I  too  to  be  glad  that  my  name  is  so  widely  known  ? 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  am  glad  and  I  say  so,  for  I  am 
not  afraid  of  being  considered  boastful,  when  it  is  not 
my  opinion  about  myself  but  that  of  others  which  I 
put  forward,  and  especially  when  you  are  my  confi- 
dant, —  you  who  grudge  no  one  his  fair  praise,  and 
are  constantly  doing  what  you  can  to  increase  my 
fame.  Farewell. 


TO  FUSCUS 
(IX.,  36.) 

You  ask  me  how  I  spend  the  day  at  my  Tuscan 
villa  in  summer  time.  Well,  I  wake  at  my  own 
sweet  will,  usually  about  the  first  hour,  though  it  is 
often  before,  and  rarely  later.  I  keep  my  windows 
shut,  for  it  is  remarkable  how,  when  all  is  still  and  in 
darkness,  and  I  am  withdrawn  frorfi  distracting  influ- 
ences and  am  left  to  myself,  and  free  to  do  what  I 
like,  my  thoughts  are  not  led  by  my  eyes,  but  my 
eyes  by  my  thoughts ;  and  so  my  eyes,  when  they  have 


TO  FUSCUS  467 

nothing  else  to  look  at,  only  see  the  objects  which  are 
present  before  my  mind.  If  I  have  anything  on  hand, 
I  think  it  over,  and  weigh  every  word  as  carefully  as 
though  I  were  actually  writing  or  revising,  and  in  this 
way  I  get  through  more  or  less  work,  according  as  the 
subject  is  easy  or  difficult  to  compose  and  bear  in 
mind.  I  call  for  a  shorthand  writer,  and,  after  let- 
ting in  the  daylight,  I  dictate  the  passages  which  I 
have  composed  ;  then  he  leaves  me,  and  I  send  for  him 
again,  and  once  again  dismiss  him. 

At  the  fourth  or  fifth  hour,  according  as  the  weather 
tempts  me,  —  for  I  have  no  fixed  and  settled  plan  for 
the  day,  —  I  betake  myself  to  my  terrace  or  covered 
portico,  and  there  again  I  resume  my  thinking  and 
dictating.  I  ride  in  my  carriage,  and  still  continue 
my  mental  occupation,  just  as  when  I  am  walking  or 
lying  down.  My  concentration  of  thought  is  unaf- 
fected, or  rather  is  refreshed  by  the  change.  Then  I 
snatch  a  brief  sleep,  and  again  walk,  and  afterwards 
read  aloud  a  Greek  or  Latin  speech,  as  clearly  and 
distinctly  as  I  can,  not  so  much  to  exercise  the  vocal 
organs  as  to  help  my  digestion,  though  it  does  at  the 
same  time  strengthen  my  voice.  I  take  another  walk, 
then  I  am  anointed,  and  take  exercise  and  a  bath. 
While  I  am  at  dinner,  if  I  am  dining  with  my  wife 
or  a  few  friends,  a  book  is  read  to  us,  and  afterwards 
we  hear  a  comic  actor  or  a  musician ;  then  I  walk 
with  my  attendants,  some  of  whom  are  men  of  learn- 
ing. Thus  the  evening  is  passed  away  with  talk  on 
all  sorts  of  subjects,  and  even  the  longest  day  is  soon 
done. 

Sometimes  I  vary  this  routine,  for,  if  I  have  been 
lying  down,  or  walking  for  any  length  of  time,  as  soon 
as  I  have  had  my  sleep  and  read  aloud,  I  ride  on 


468  PLINY  THE  YOUNGER 

horseback  instead  of  in  a  carriage,  as  it  takes  less 
time,  and  one  gets  over  the  ground  faster.  My  friends 
come  in  from  the  neighboring  towns  to  see  me,  and 
monopolize  part  of  the  day,  and  occasionally,  when  I 
am  tired,  I  welcome  their  call  as  a  pleasant  relief. 
Sometimes  I  go  hunting,  but  never  without  my  tab- 
lets, so  that  though  I  may  take  no  game,  I  still  have 
something  to  bring  back  with  me.  Part  of  my  time, 
too,  is  given  to  my  tenants  —  though  in  their  opinion 
not  enough  —  and  their  clownish  complaints  give  me 
a  fresh  zest  for  my  literary  work  and  my  round  of 
engagements  in  town.  Farewell. 


TO  TRAJAN 

(96.1) 

IT  is  my  custom,  Sire,  to  refer  to  you  in  all  cases 
where  I  do  not  feel  sure,  for  who  can  better  direct  my 
doubts  or  inform  my  ignorance  ?  I  have  never  been 
present  at  any  legal  examination  of  the  Christians, 
and  I  do  not  know,  therefore,  what  are  the  usual  pen- 
alties passed  upon  them,  or  the  limits  of  those  penal- 
ties, or  how  searching  an  inquiry  should  be  made.  I 
have  hesitated  a  great  deal  in  considering  whether 
any  distinctions  should  be  drawn  according  to  the 
ages  of  the  accused ;  whether  the  weak  should  be  pun- 
ished as  severely  as  the  more  robust ;  whether  if  they 
renounce  their  faith  they  should  be  pardoned,  or 
whether  the  man  who  has  once  been  a  Christian  should 
gain  nothing  by  recanting ;  whether  the  name  itself, 

1  This  letter  is  not  only  typical  of  the  whole  correspondence  be- 
tween Pliny  and  Trajan,  but  is  of  special  importance  in  that  it  indi- 
cates the  policy  of  the  Roman  authorities  towards  the  Christians  at 
thisj>tjrjo.d.  The  next  letter  is  the  emperor's  answer. 


TO  TRAJAN  4C9 

even  though  otherwise  innocent  of  crime,  should  be 
punished,  or  only  the  crimes  that  gather  round  it. 

In  the  mean  time,  this  is  the  plan  which  I  have 
adopted  in  the  case  of  those  Christians  who  have  been 
brought  before  me.  I  ask  them  whether  they  are 
Christians  ;  if  they  say  yes,  then  I  repeat  the  ques- 
tion a  second  and  a  third  time,  warning  them  of  the 
penalties  it  entails,  and  if  they  still  persist,  I  order 
them  to  be  taken  to  prison.  For  I  do  not  doubt  that, 
whatever  the  character  of  the  crime  may  be  which 
they  confess,  their  pertinacity  and  inflexible  obstinacy 
certainly  ought  to  be  punished.  There  were  others 
who  showed  similar  mad  folly  whom  I  reserved  to  be 
sent  to  Rome,  as  they  were  Roman  citizens.  Subse- 
quently, as  is  usually  the  way,  the  very  fact  of  my 
taking  up  this  question  led  to  a  great  increase  of  ac- 
cusations, and  a  variety  of  cases  were  brought  before 
me.  A  pamphlet  was  issued  anonymously,  containing 
the  names  of  a  number  of  people.  Those  who  denied 
that  they  were  or  had  been  Christians  and  called 
upon  the  gods  in  the  usual  formula,  reciting  the  words 
after  me,  those  who  offered  incense  and  wine  before 
your  image,  which  I  had  given  orders  to  be  brought 
forward  for  this  purpose,  together  with  the  statues 
of  the  deities,  —  all  such  I  considered  should  be  dis- 
charged, especially  as  they  cursed  the  name  of  Christ, 
which,  it  is  said,  those  who  are  really  Christians 
cannot  be  induced  to  do.  Others,  whose  names  were 
given  me  by  an  informer,  first  said  that  they  were 
Christians  and  afterwards  denied  it,  declaring  that 
they  had  been  but  were  so  no  longer,  some  of  them 
having  recanted  many  years  before,  and  more  than 
one  so  long  as  twenty  years  back.  They  all  worshiped 
your  image  and  the  statues  of  the  deities,  and  cursed 


470  PLINY  THE  YOUNGER 

the  name  of  Christ.  But  they  declared  that  the  sum 
of  their  guilt  or  their  error  only  amounted  to  this, 
that  on  a  stated  day  they  had  been  accustomed  to 
meet  before  daybreak  and  to  recite  a  hymn  among 
themselves  to  Christ,  as  though  he  were  a  god,  and 
that  so  far  from  binding  themselves  by  oath  to  com- 
mit any  crime,  their  oath  was  to  abstain  from  theft, 
robbery,  adultery,  and  from  breach  of  faith,  and  not 
to  deny  trust  money  placed  in  their  keeping  when 
called  upon  to  deliver  it.  When  this  ceremony  was 
concluded,  it  had  been  their  custom  to  depart  and 
meet  again  to  take  food,  but  it  was  of  no  special  char- 
acter and  quite  harmless,  and  they  had  ceased  this 
practice  after  the  edict  in  which,  in  accordance  with 
your  orders,  I  had  forbidden  all  secret  societies.  I 
thought  it  the  more  necessary,  therefore,  to  find  out 
what  truth  there  was  in  these  statements  by  submit- 
ing  two  women,  who  were  called  deaconesses,  to  the 
torture,  but  I  found  nothing  but  a  debased  supersti- 
tion carried  to  great  lengths.  So  I  postponed  my 
examination,  and  immediately  consulted  you.  The 
matter  seems  to  me  worthy  of  your  consideration, 
especially  as  there  are  so  many  people  involved  in  the 
danger.  Many  persons  of  all  ages,  and  of  both  sexes 
alike,  are  being  brought  into  peril  of  their  lives  by  their 
accusers  ;  and  the  process  will  go  on.  For  the  conta- 
gion of  this  superstition  has  spread  not  only  through 
the  free  cities,  but  into  the  villages  and  the  rural  dis- 
tricts, and  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  it  can  be  checked 
and  set  right.  It  is  beyond  doubt  that  the  temples, 
which  have  been  almost  deserted,  are  beginning  again 
to  be  thronged  with  worshipers,  that  the  sacred  rites 
which  have  for  a  long  time  been  allowed  to  lapse  are 
now  being  renewed,  and  that  the  food  for  the  sacrifi- 


TRAJAN  TO  PLINY  471 

cial  victims  is  once  more  finding  a  sale,  whereas,  up 
to  recently,  a  buyer  was  hardly  to  be  found.  From 
this  it  is  easy  to  infer  what  vast  numbers  of  people 
might  be  reclaimed,  if  only  they  were  given  an  oppor- 
tunity of  repentance. 


TRAJAN  TO  PLINY 
(97.) 

You  have  adopted  the  proper  course,  my  dear  Pliny, 
in  examining  into  the  cases  of  those  who  have  been 
denounced  to  you  as  Christians,  for  no  hard  and  fast 
rule  can  be  laid  down  to  meet  a  question  of  such  wide 
extent.  The  Christians  are  not  to  be  hunted  out ;  if 
they  are  brought  before  you  and  the  offense  is  proved, 
they  are  to  be  punished,  but  with  this  reservation,  — 
that  if  any  one  denies  that  he  is  a  Christian  and 
makes  it  clear  that  he  is  not,  by  offering  prayers  to 
our  deities,  then  he  is  to  be  pardoned  because  of  his 
recantation,  however  suspicious  his  past  conduct  may 
have  been.  But  pamphlets  published  anonymously 
must  not  carry  any  weight  whatever,  no  matter  what 
the  charge  may  be,  for  they  are  not  only  a  precedent 
of  the  very  worst  type,  but  they  are  not  in  consonance 
with  the  spirit  of  our  age. 


APULEIUS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

APULEIUS,  one  of  the  most  prominent  of  the  African 
writers  who  contributed  so  largely  to  Latin  literature  in 
the  second  century  A.  D.,  was  born  at  Madaura  in  Numidia 
about  130.  He  was  educated  at  Carthage  and  Athens,  and 
afterwards  lived  for  a  few  years  in  Rome.  The  greater 
part  of  his  life,  however,  was  spent  in  Africa,  where  he  lec- 
tured on  rhetoric  and  philosophy  in  many  different  cities. 
We  gain  some  knowledge  of  his  private  life  from  the  Apo- 
logia, in  which,  shortly  after  his  marriage  with  a  rich  widow, 
he  successfully  defended  himself  against  his  wife's  relatives, 
who  had  accused  him  of  resorting  to  magic  in  the  further- 
ance of  his  suit. 

Of  his  other  works  there  are  extant  some  philosophical 
treatises,  a  collection  of  excerpts  from  his  lectures,  and, 
most  important  of  all,  the  Metamorphoses,  in  eleven  books. 
In  these  he  describes  the  adventures  of  one  Lucius,  who, 
transformed  by  a  magic  potion  into  the  semblance  of  an 
ass  but  retaining  still  such  wits  as  he  had  originally  pos- 
sessed, met  with  divers  strange  experiences.  Like  the 
Satirae  of  Petronius,  the  work  belongs  to  the  novel  class, 
so  sparsely  represented  in  Latin  literature,  but  while  Petro- 
nius deals  with  the  everyday  life  of  certain  sections  of 
Italian  society,  Apuleius  handles  mysteries  and  magic.  His 
style  is  one  of  singular  opulence  of  phraseology,  inter- 
woven with  reminiscences  of  the  poets  and  showing  many 
highly  colored  passages  in  which  image  follows  image  with 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  473 

wonderful  profusion  of  detail.  It  is  artificial  to  be  sure, 
yet,  in  spite  of  its  manifestly  studied  elaborateness,  has  a 
certain  glamour  of  its  own. 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE1 

(Metamorphoses,  IV.,  28- VI.,  24.) 

IN  a  certain  city  lived  a  king  and  queen  who  had 
three  daughters  exceeding  fair.  But  the  beauty  of 
the  elder  sisters,  though  pleasant  to  behold,  yet  passed 
not  the  measure  of  human  praise,  while  such  was 
the  loveliness  of  the  youngest  that  men's  speech  was 
too  poor  to  commend  it  worthily  and  could  express  it 
not  at  all.  Many  of  the  citizens  and  of  strangers, 
whom  the  fame  of  this  excellent  vision  had  gathered 
thither,  confounded  by  that  matchless  beauty,  could 
but  kiss  the  finger-tips  of  their  right  hands  at  sight 
of  her,  as  in  adoration  to  the  goddess  Venus  herself. 
And  soon  a  rumor  passed  through  the  country  that 
she  whom  the  blue  deep  had  borne,  forbearing  her 
divine  dignity,  was  even  then  moving  among  men,  or 
that  by  some  fresh  germination  from  the  stars,  not 
the  sea  now,  but  the  earth,  had  put  forth  a  new  Venus, 
endued  with  the  flower  of  virginity. 

This  belief,  with  the  fame  of  the  maiden's  loveli- 
ness, went  daily  further  into  distant  lands,  so  that 
many  people  were  drawn  together  to  behold  that  glo- 
rious model  of  the  age.  Men  sailed  no  longer  to 
Paphos,  to  Cnidos  or  Cythera,  to  the  presence  of  the 
goddess  Venus  :  her  sacred  rites  were  neglected,  her 

1  This  fairy-tale  is  one  of  the  numerous  episodes  introduced  into 
the  Metamorphoses.  It  is  said  to  have  been  overheard  in  a  robbers' 
cave  by  Lucius,  as  it  was  told  by  an  old  woman  to  a  captive  girl. 


474  APULEIUS 

images  stood  uncrowned,  the  cold  ashes  were  left  to 
disfigure  her  forsaken  altars.  It  was  to  a  maiden  that 
men's  prayers  were  offered,  to  a  human  countenance 
they  looked,  in  propitiating  so  great  a  godhead  :  when 
the  girl  went  forth  in  the  morning  they  strewed  flow- 
ers on  her  way,  and  the  victims  proper  to  that  unseen 
goddess  were  presented  as  she  passed  along.  This 
conveyance  of  divine  worship  to  a  mortal  kindled 
meantime  tho  anger  of  the  true  Venus.  "  Lo  !  now, 
the  ancient  parent  of  nature,"  she  cried,  "  the  foun- 
tain of  all  elements !  Behold  me,  Venus,  benign 
mother  of  the  world,  sharing  my  honors  with  a  mortal 
maiden,  while  my  name,  built  up  in  heaven,  is  pro- 
faned by  the  mean  things  of  earth  !  Shall  a  perish- 
able woman  bear  my  image  about  with  her?  In  vain 
did  the  shepherd  of  Ida  prefer  me!  Yet  shall  she  have 
little  joy,  whosoever  she  be,  of  her  usurped  and  un- 
lawful loveliness !  "  Thereupon  she  called  to  her  that 
winged,  bold  boy,  of  evil  ways,  who  wanders  armed 
by  night  through  men's  houses,  spoiling  their  mar- 
riages ;  and  stirring  yet  more  by  her  speech  his  inborn 
wantonness,  she  led  him  to  the  city,  and  showed  him 
Psyche  as  she  walked. 

"  I  pray  thee,"  she  said,  "  give  thy  mother  a  full 
revenge.  Let  this  maid  become  the  slave  of  an  un- 
worthy love."  Then,  embracing  him  closely,  she  de- 
parted to  the  shore  and  took  her  throne  upon  the  crest 
of  the  wave.  And  lo!  at  her  unuttered  will,  her 
ocean-servants  are  in  waiting :  the  daughters  of  Ne- 
reus  are  there  singing  their  song,  and  Portunus,  and 
Salacia,  and  the  tiny  charioteer  of  the  dolphin,  with 
a  host  of  Tritons  leaping  through  the  billows.  And 
one  blows  softly  through  his  sounding  sea-shell,  an- 
other spreads  a  silken  web  against  the  sun,  a  third 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  475 

presents  the  mirror  to  the  eyes  of  his  mistress,  while 
the  others  swim  side  by  side  below,  drawing  her  cha- 
riot. Such  was  the  escort  of  Venus  as  she  went  upon 
the  sea. 

Psyche  meantime,  aware  of  her  loveliness,  had  no 
fruit  thereof.  All  people  regarded  and  admired,  but 
none  sought  her  in  marriage.  It  was  but  as  on  the 
finished  work  of  the  craftsman  that  they  gazed  upon 
that  divine  likeness.  Her  sisters,  less  fair  than  she, 
were  happily  wedded.  She,  even  as  a  widow,  sitting 
at  home,  wept  over  her  desolation,  hating  in  her  heart 
the  beauty  in  which  all  men  were  pleased. 

And  the  king,  supposing  the  gods  were  angry,  in- 
quired of  the  oracle  of  Apollo,  and  Apollo  answered 
him  thus  :  "  Let  the  damsel  be  placed  on  the  top  of  a 
certain  mountain,  adorned  as  for  the  bed  of  marriage, 
and  of  death.  Look  not  for  a  son-in-law  of  mortal 
birth  ;  but  for  that  evil  serpent-thing,  by  reason  of 
whom  even  the  gods  tremble  and  the  shadows  of  Styx 
are  afraid." 

So  the  king  returned  home  and  made  known  the 
oracle  to  his  wife.  For  many  days  she  lamented,  but 
at  last  the  fulfillment  of  the  divine  precept  is  urgent 
upon  her,  and  the  company  make  ready  to  conduct 
the  maiden  to  her  deadly  bridal.  And  now  the  nup- 
tial torch  gathers  dark  smoke  and  ashes :  the  pleasant 
sound  of  the  pipe  is  changed  into  a  cry :  the  marriage 
hymn  concludes  in  a  sorrowful  wailing :  below  her 
yellow  wedding-veil  the  bride  shook  away  her  tears  ; 
insomuch  that  the  whole  city  was  afflicted  together  at 
the  ill-luck  of  the  stricken  house. 

But  the  mandate  of  the  god  impelled  the  hapless 
Psyche  to  her  fate,  and,  these  solemnities  being  ended, 
the  funeral  of  the  living  soul  goes  forth,  all  the  peo- 


476  APULEIUS 

pie  following.  Psyche,  bitterly  weeping,  assists  not 
at  her  marriage  but  at  her  own  obsequies,  and  while 
the  parents  hesitate  to  accomplish  a  thing  so  unholy 
the  daughter  cries  to  them  :  "  Wherefore  torment 
your  luckless  age  by  long  weeping?  This  was  the 
prize  of  my  extraordinary  beauty !  When  all  people 
celebrated  us  with  divine  honors,  and  in  one  voice 
named  the  New  Venus,  it  was  then  ye  should  have 
wept  for  me  as  one  dead.  Now  at  last  I  understand 
that  that  one  name  of  Venus  has  been  my  ruin.  Lead 
me  and  set  me  upon  the  appointed  place.  I  am  in 
haste  to  submit  to  that  well-omened  marriage,  to  be- 
hold that  goodly  spouse.  Why  delay  the  coming  of 
him  who  was  born  for  the  destruction  of  the  whole 
world?" 

She  was  silent,  and  with  firm  step  went  on  the  way. 
And  they  proceeded  to  the  appointed  place  on  a  steep 
mountain,  and  left  there  the  maiden  alone,  and  took 
their  way  homewards  dejectedly.  The  wretched  par- 
ents, in  their  close-shut  house,  yielded  themselves  to 
perpetual  night ;  while  to  Psyche,  fearful  and  trem- 
bling and  weeping  sore  upon  the  mountain-top,  comes 
the  gentle  Zephyrus.  He  lifts  her  mildly,  and,  with 
vesture  afloat  on  either  side,  bears  her  by  his  own  soft 
breathing  over  the  windings  of  the  hills,  and  sets  her 
lightly  among  the  flowers  in  the  bosom  of  a  valley 
below. 

Psyche,  in  those  delicate  grassy  places,  lying  sweetly 
on  her  dewy  bed,  rested  from  the  agitation  of  her 
soul  and  arose  in  peace.  And  lo !  a  grove  of  mighty 
trees,  with  a  fount  of  water,  clear  as  glass,  in  the 
midst ;  and  hard  by  the  water,  a  dwelling-place,  built 
not  by  human  hands  but  by  some  divine  cunning. 
One  recognized,  even  at  the  entering,  the  delightful 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  477 

hostelry  of  a  god.  Golden  pillars  sustained  the  roof, 
arched  most  curiously  in  cedar-wood  and  ivory.  The 
walls  were  hidden  under  wrought  silver,  —  all  tame 
and  woodland  creatures  leaping  forward  to  the  visi- 
tor's gaze.  Wonderful  indeed  was  the  craftsman,  di- 
vine or  half-divine,  who  by  the  subtlety  of  his  art  had 
breathed  so  wild  a  soul  into  the  silver !  The  very 
pavement  was  distinct  with  pictures  in  goodly  stones. 
In  the  glow  of  its  precious  metal  the  house  is  its  own 
daylight,  having  no  need  of  the  sun.  Well  might  it 
seem  a  place  fashioned  for  the  conversation  of  gods 
with  men  ! 

Psyche,  drawn  forward  by  the  delight  of  it,  came 
near,  and,  her  courage  growing,  stood  within  the  door- 
way. One  by  one,  she  admired  the  beautiful  things 
she  saw  ;  and,  most  wonderful  of  all !  no  lock,  no 
chain,  nor  living  guardian  protected  that  great  trea- 
sure-house. But  as  she  gazed  there  came  a  voice,  —  a 
voice,  as  it  were,  unclothed  of  bodily  vesture.  "  Mis- 
tress!" it  said,  "all  these  things  are  thine.  Lie 
down,  and  relieve  thy  weariness,  and  rise  again  for 
the  bath  when  thou  wilt.  We  thy  servants,  whose 
voice  thou  nearest,  will  be  beforehand  with  our  ser- 
vice, and  a  royal  feast  shall  be  ready." 

And  Psyche  understood  that  some  divine  care  was 
providing,  and,  refreshed  with  sleep  and  the  bath,  sat 
down  to  the  feast.  Still  she  saw  no  one:  only  she 
heard  words  falling  here  and  there,  and  had  voices 
alone  to  serve  her.  And  the  feast  being  ended,  one 
entered  the  chamber  and  sang  to  her  unseen,  while 
another  struck  the  chords  of  a  harp,  invisible  with  him 
who  played  on  it.  Afterwards  the  sound  of  a  com- 
pany singing  together  came  to  her,  but  still  so  that 
none  was  present  to  sight,  yet  it  appeared  that  a  great 
multitude  of  singers  was  there. 


478  APULEIUS 

One  night  the  bridegroom  spoke  thus  to  his  be- 
loved, "  O  Psyche,  most  pleasant  bride  !  Fortune  is 
grown  stern  with  us,  and  threatens  thee  with  mortal 
peril.  Thy  sisters,  troubled  at  the  report  of  thy  death 
and  seeking  some  trace  of  thee,  will  come  to  the 
mountain's  top.  But  if  by  chance  their  cries  reach 
thee,  answer  not,  neither  look  forth  at  all,  lest  thou 
bring  sorrow  upon  me  and  destruction  upon  thyself." 
Then  Psyche  promised  that  she  would  do  according 
to  his  will.  But  the  bridegroom  was  fled  away  again 
with  the  night.  And  all  that  day  she  spent  in  tears, 
repeating  that  she  was  now  dead  indeed,  shut  up  in 
that  golden  prison,  powerless  to  console  her  sisters 
sorrowing  after  her,  or  to  see  their  faces;  and  so  went 
to  rest  weeping. 

And  after  a  while  came  the  bridegroom  again,  and 
embracing  her  as  she  wept,  complained,  "  Was  this 
thy  promise,  my  Psyche  ?  What  have  I  to  hope  from 
thee  ?  Even  in  the  arms  of  thy  husband  thou  ceasest 
not  from  pain.  Do  now  as  thou  wilt.  Indulge  thine 
own  desire,  though  it  seeks  what  will  ruin  thee.  Yet 
wilt  thou  remember  my  warning,  repentant  too  late." 
Then,  protesting  that  she  is  like  to  die,  she  obtains 
from  him  that  he  suffer  her  to  see  her  sisters,  and 
present  to  them  moreover  what  gifts  she  would  of 
golden  ornaments ;  but  therewith  he  ofttimes  advised 
her  never  at  any  time  yielding  to  pernicious  counsel, 
to  inquire  concerning  his  bodily  form,  lest  she  fall, 
through  unholy  curiosity,  from  so  great  a  height  of 
fortune,  nor  feel  ever  his  embrace  again.  "  I  would 
die  a  hundred  times,'  she  said,  cheerful  at  last,  "rather 
than  be  deprived  of  thy  most  sweet  usage."  I  love 
thee  as  my  own  soul,  beyond  comparison  even  with 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  479 

Love  himself.  Only  bid  thy  servant  Zephyrus  bring 
hither  my  sisters,  as  he  brought  me.  My  honeycomb  ! 
My  Husband  !  Thy  Psyche's  breath  of  life  !  "  So 
he  promised ;  and  ere  the  light  appeared,  vanished 
from  the  hands  of  his  bride. 

And  the  sisters,  coming  to  the  place  where  Psyche 
was  abandoned,  wept  loudly  among  the  rocks,  and 
called  upon  her  by  name,  so  that  the  sound  came 
down  to  her,  and  running  out  of  the  palace  distraught, 
she  cried,  "  Wherefore  afflict  your  souls  with  lamen- 
tation ?  I  whom  you  mourn  am  here."  Then,  sum- 
moning Zephyrus,  she  reminded  him  of  her  husband's 
bidding ;  and  he  bare  them  down  with  a  gentle  blast. 
"  Enter  now,"  she  said,  "  into  my  house,  and  relieve 
your  sorrow  in  the  company  of  Psyche  your  sister." 

And  Psyche  displayed  to  them  all  the  treasures  of 
the  golden  house,  and  its  great  family  of  ministering 
voices,  nursing  in  them  the  malice  which  was  already 
at  their  hearts.  And  at  last  one  of  them  asks  curi- 
ously who  the  lord  of  that  celestial  array  may  be,  and 
what  manner  of  man  her  husband  ?  And  Psyche  an- 
swered dissemblingly,  "  A  young  man,  handsome  and 
mannerly,  with  a  goodly  beard.  For  the  most  part 
he  hunts  upon  the  mountains."  And  lest  the  secret 
should  slip  from  her  in  the  way  of  further  speech, 
loading  her  sisters  with  gold  and  gems,  she  com- 
manded Zephyrus  to  bear  them  away. 

And  they  returned  home,  on  fire  with  envy.  "  See 
now  the  injustice  of  fortune !  "  cried  one.  "  We,  the 
elder  children,  are  given  like  servants  to  be  the  wives 
of  strangers,  while  the  youngest  is  possessed  of  so 
great  riches,  who  scarcely  knows  how  to  use  them. 
You  saw,  Sister !  what  a  hoard  of  wealth  lies  in  the 
house  ;  what  glittering  gowns  ;  what  splendor  of  p're- 


480  APULEIUS 

cious  gems,  besides  all  that  gold  trodden  under  foot. 
If  she  indeed  hath,  as  she  said,  a  bridegroom  so 
goodly,  then  no  one  in  all  the  world  is  happier.  And 
it  may  be  that  this  husband,  being  of  divine  nature, 
will  make  her  too  a  goddess.  Nay,  so  in  truth  it  is. 
It  was  even  thus  she  bore  herself.  Already  she  looks 
aloft  and  breathes  divinity,  who,  though  but  a  woman, 
has  voices  for  her  handmaidens,  and  can  command  the 
winds."  "  Think,"  answered  the  other,  "  how  arro- 
gantly she  dealt  with  us,  'grudging  us  these  trifling- 
gifts  out  of  all  that  store,  and  when  our  company 
became  a  burden,  causing  us  to  be  hissed  and  driven 
away  from  her  through  the  air  !  But  I  am  no  woman 
if  she  keep  her  hold  on  this  great  fortune ;  and  if  the 
insult  done  us  has  touched  thee  too,  take  we  counsel 
together.  Meanwhile  let  us  hold  our  peace,  and  know 
nought  of  her,  alive  or  dead.  For  they  are  not  truly 
happy  of  whose  happiness  other  folk  are  unaware." 

And  the  bridegroom,  whom  still  she  knows  not, 
warns  her  thus  a  second  time,  as  he  talks  with  her  by 
night :  "  Seest  thou  what  peril  besets  thee  ?  Those 
cunning  wolves  have  made  ready  for  thee  their  snares, 
of  which  the  sum  is  that  they  persuade  thee  to  search 
into  the  fashion  of  my  countenance,  the  seeing  of 
which,  as  I  have  told  thee  often,  will  be  the  seeing 
of  it  no  more  forever.  But  do  thou  neither  listen  nor 
make  answer  to  aught  regarding  thy  husband.  Be- 
sides, we  have  sown  also  the  seed  of  our  race.  Even 
now  this  bosom  grows  with  a  child  to  be  born  to  us,  a 
child,  if  thou  but  keep  our  secret,  of  divine  quality ; 
if  thou  profane  it,  subject  to  death."  And  Psyche 
was  glad  at  the  tidings,  rejoicing  in  that  solace  of  a 
divine  seed,  and  in  the  glory  of  that  pledge  of  love 
to  "be,  and  the  dignity  of  the  name  of  mother.  Anx- 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  481 

iously  she  notes  the  increase  of  the  days,  the  waning 
months.  And  again,  as  he  tarries  briefly  beside  her, 
the  bridegroom  repeats  his  warning  :  "  Even  now  the 
sword  is  drawn  with  which  thy  sisters  seek  thy  life. 
Have  pity  on  thyself,  sweet  wife,  and  upon  our  child, 
and  see  not  those  evil  women  again."  But  the  sisters 
make  their  way  into  the  palace  once  more,  crying  to 
her  in  wily  tones,  "  O  Psyche  !  and  thou  too  wilt  be  a 
mother  !  How  great  will  be  the  joy  at  home  !  Happy 
indeed  shall  we  be  to  have  the  nursing  of  the  golden 
child.  Truly  if  he  be  answerable  to  the  beauty  of  his 
parents,  it  will  a  birth  of  Cupid  himself." 

So,  little  by  little,  they  stole  upon  the  heart  of  their 
sister.  She,  meanwhile,  bids  the  lyre  to  sound  for 
their  delight,  and  the  playing  is  heard :  she  bids  the 
pipes  to  move,  the  quire  to  sing,  and  the  music  and 
the  singing  come  invisibly,  soothing  the  mind  of  the 
listener  with  sweetest  modulation.  Yet  not  even 
thereby  was  their  malice  put  to  sleep  :  once  more  they 
seek  to  know  what  manner  of  husband  she  has,  and 
whence  that  seed.  And  Psyche,  simple  over-much, 
forgetful  of  her  first  story,  answers,  "  My  husband 
comes  from  a  far  country,  trading  for  great  sums.  He 
is  already  of  middle  age,  with  whitening  locks." 
And  therewith  she  dismisses  them  again. 

And  returning  home  upon  the  soft  breath  of  Zephyrus 
one  cried  to  the  other,  "  What  shall  be  said  of  so  ugly 
a  lie  ?  He  who  was  a  young  man  with  goodly  beard 
is  now  in  middle  life.  It  must  be  that  she  told  a  false 
tale :  else  is  she  in  very  truth  ignorant  of  what  man- 
ner of  man  he  is.  Howsoever  it  be,  let  us  destroy  her 
quickly.  For  if  she  indeed  knows  not,  be  sure  that 
her  bridegroom  is  one  of  the  gods :  it  is  a  god  she 
bears  in  her  womb.  And  let  that  be  far  from  us !  If 


482  APULEIUS 

she  be  called  the  mother  of  a  god,  then  will  life  be 
more  than  I  can  bear." 

So,  full  of  rage  against  her,  they  returned  to 
Psyche,  and  said  to  her  craftily,  "  Thou  livest  in  an 
ignorant  bliss,  all  incurious  of  thy  real  danger.  It  is 
a  deadly  serpent,  as  we  certainly  know,  that  comes  to 
sleep  at  thy  side.  Remember  the  words  of  the  oracle, 
which  declared  thee  destined  to  a  cruel  beast.  There 
are  those  who  have  seen  it  at  nightfall,  coming  back 
from  its  feeding.  In  no  long  time,  they  say,  it  will 
end  its  blandishments.  It  but  waits  for  the  babe  to 
be  formed  in  thee,  that  it  may  devour  thee  by  so  much 
the  richer.  If  indeed  the  solitude  of  this  musical 
place,  or  it  may  be  the  loathsome  commerce  of  a  hid- 
den love,  delight  thee,  we  at  least  in  sisterly  piety 
have  done  our  part."  And  at  last  the  unhappy 
Psyche,  simple  and  frail  of  soul,  carried  away  by  the 
terror  of  their  words,  losing  memory  of  her  husband's 
precepts  and  her  own  promise,  brought  upon  herself 
a  great  calamity.  Trembling  and  turning  pale,  she 
answers  them,  "  And  they  who  tell  those  things,  it 
may  be,  speak  the  truth.  For  in  very  deed  never 
have  I  seen  the  face  of  my  husband,  nor  know  I  at 
all  what  manner  of  man  he  is.  Always  he  frights  me 
diligently  from  the  sight  of  him,  threatening  some 
great  evil  should  I  too  curiously  look  upon  his  face. 
Do  ye,  if  ye  can  help  your  sister  in  her  great  peril, 
stand  by  her  now." 

Her  sisters  answered  her,  "  The  way  of  safety  we 
have  well  considered,  and  will  teach  thee.  Take  a 
sharp  knife,  and  hide  it  in  that  part  of  the  couch 
where  thou  art  wont  to  lie :  take  also  a  lamp  filled 
with  oil,  and  set  it  privily  behind  the  curtain.  And 
when  he  shall  have  drawn  up  his  coils  into  the  accus- 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  483 

tomed  place,  and  tliou  hearest  him  breathe  in  sleep, 
slip  then  from  his  side  and  discover  the  lamp,  and, 
knife  in  hand,  put  forth  thy  strength,  and  strike 
off  the  serpent's  head."  And  so  they  departed  in 
haste. 

And  Psyche  left  alone  (alone  but  for  the  furies 
which  beset  her)  is  tossed  up  and  down  in  her  dis- 
tress, like  a  wave  of  the  sea  ;  and  though  her  will  is 
firm,  yet,  in  the  moment  of  putting  hand  to  the  deed, 
she  falters,  and  is  torn  asunder  by  various  apprehen- 
sions of  the  great  calamity  upon  her.  She  hastens  and 
anon  delays,  now  full  of  distrust,  and  now  of  angry 
courage :  under  one  bodily  form  she  loathes  the  mon- 
ster and  loves  the  bridegroom.  But  twilight  ushers 
in  the  night ;  and  at  length  in  haste  she  makes  ready 
for  the  terrible  deed.  Darkness  came,  and  the  bride- 
groom ;  and  he  first  falls  into  a  deep  sleep. 

And  she,  erewhile  of  no  strength,  the  hard  purpose 
of  destiny  assisting  her,  is  confirmed  in  force.  With 
lamp  plucked  forth,  knife  in  hand,  she  put  by  her  sex ; 
and  lo  !  as  the  secrets  of  the  bed  became  manifest, 
the  sweetest  and  most  gentle  of  all  creatures,  Love 
himself,  reclined  there,  in  his  own  proper  loveliness ! 
At  sight  of  him  the  very  flame  of  the  lamp  kindled 
more  gladly  !  But  Psyche  was  afraid  at  the  vision, 
and,  faint  of  soul,  trembled  back  upon  her  knees,  and 
would  have  hidden  the  steel  in  her  own  bosom.  But 
the  knife  slipped  from  her  hand ;  and  now,  undone, 
yet  ofttimes  looking  upon  the  beauty  of  that  divine 
countenance,  she  lives  again.  She  sees  the  locks  of 
that  golden  head,  pleasant  with  the  unction  of  the 
gods,  shed  down  in  graceful  entanglement  behind  and 
before,  about  the  ruddy  cheeks  and  white  throat. 
The  pinions  of  the  winged  god,  yet  fresh  with  the 


484  APULEIUS 

dew,  are  spotless  upon  his  shoulders,  the  delicate  plu- 
mage wavering  over  them  as  they  lie  at  rest.  Smooth 
he  was,  and  touched  with  light,  worthy  of  Venus  his 
mother.  At  the  foot  of  the  couch  lay  his  bow  and 
arrows,  the  instruments  of  his  power,  propitious  to 
men. 

And  Psyche  gazing  hungrily  thereon,  draws  an  ar- 
row from  the  quiver,  and  trying  the  point  upon  the 
thumb,  tremulous  still,  drave  in  the  barb,  so  that  a 
drop  of  blood  came  forth.  Thus  fell  she,  by  her  own 
act,  and  unaware,  into  the  love  of  Love.  Falling 
upon  the  bridegroom,  with  indrawn  breath,  in  a  hurry 
of  kisses  from  eager  and  open  lips,  she  shuddered  as 
she  thought  how  brief  that  sleep  might  be.  And  it 
chanced  that  a  drop  of  burning  oil  fell  from  the  lamp 
upon  the  god's  shoulder.  Ah  !  maladroit  minister  of 
love,  thus  to  wound  him  from  whom  all  fire  comes ; 
though  't  was  a  lover,  I  trow,  first  devised  thee,  to 
have  the  fruit  of  his  desire  even  in  the  darkness! 
At  the  touch  of  the  fire  the  god  started  up,  and  be- 
holding the  overthrow  of  her  faith,  quietly  took  flight 
from  her  embraces. 

And  Psyche,  as  he  rose  upon  the  wing,  laid  hold  on 
him  with  her  two  hands,  hanging  upon  him  in  his  pas- 
sage through  the  air,  till  she  sinks  to  the  earth  through 
weariness.  And  as  she  lay  there,  the  divine  lover, 
tarrying  still,  lighted  upon  a  cypress  tree  which  grew 
near,  and,  from  the  top  of  it,  spake  thus  to  her,  in 
great  emotion.  "  Foolish  one  !  unmindful  of  the  com- 
mand of  Venus,  my  mother,  who  had  devoted  thee  to 
one  of  base  degree,  I  fled  to  thee  in  his  stead.  Now 
know  I  that  this  was  vainly  done.  Into  mine  own 
flesh  pierced  mine  arrow,  and  I  made  thee  my  wife, 
only  that  I  might  seem  a  monster  beside  thee  —  that 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  485 

thou  shouldst  seek  to  wound  the  head  wherein  lay  the 
eyes  so  full  of  love  to  thee !  Again  and  again,  I 
thought  to  put  thee  on  thy  guard  concerning  these 
things,  and  warned  thee  in  lovingkindness.  Now  I 
would  but  punish  thee  by  my  flight  hence."  And 
therewith  he  winged  his  way  into  the  deep  sky. 

Psyche,  prostrate  upon  the  earth,  and  following  far 
as  sight  might  reach  the  flight  of  the  bridegroom, 
wept  and  lamented ;  and  when  the  breadth  of  space 
had  parted  him  wholly  from  her,  cast  herself  down 
from  the  bank  of  a  river  which  was  nigh.  But  the 
stream,  turning  gentle  in  honor  of  the  god,  put  her 
forth  again  unhurt  upon  its  margin.  And  as  it  hap- 
pened, Pan,  the  rustic  god,  was  sitting  just  then  by 
the  waterside.  Hard  by,  his  flock  of  goats  browsed 
at  will.  And  the  shaggy  god  called  her,  wounded  and 
outworn,  kindly  to  him  and  said,  "  I  am  but  a  rustic 
herdsman,  pretty  maiden,  yet  wise,  by  favor  of  my 
great  age  and  long  experience ;  and  if  I  guess  truly 
by  those  faltering  steps,  by  thy  sorrowful  eyes  and 
continual  sighing,  thou  laborest  with  excess  of  love. 
Listen  then  to  me,  and  seek  not  death  again,  in  the 
stream  or  otherwise.  Put  aside  thy  woe,  and  turn  thy 
prayers  to  Cupid.  He  is  in  truth  a  delicate  youth  : 
win  him  by  the  delicacy  of  thy  service." 

So  the  shepherd-god  spoke,  and  Psyche,  answering 
nothing,  but  with  a  reverence  to  this  serviceable  deity, 
went  on  her  way.  And  while  she,  in  her  search  after 
Cupid,  wandered  through  many  lands,  he  was  lying  in 
the  chamber  of  his  mother,  heart-sick.  And  the  white 
bird  which  floats  over  the  waves  plunged  in  haste  into 
the  sea,  and  approaching  Venus,  as  she  bathed,  made 
known  to  her  that  her  son  lies  afflicted  with  some 
grievous  hurt,  doubtful  of  life.  And  Venus  cried, 


48G  APULEIUS 

angrily,  "  My  son,  then,  has  a  mistress !  And  it  is 
Psyche,  who  witched  away  my  beauty  and  was  the 
rival  of  my  godhead,  whom  he  loves  !  " 

Therewith  she  issued  from  the  sea,  and  returning 
to  her  golden  chamber,  found  there  the  lad,  sick,  as 
she  had  heard,  and  cried  from  the  doorway,  "  Well 
done,  truly  !  to  trample  thy  mother's  precepts  under 
foot,  to  spare  my  enemy  that  cross  of  an  unworthy 
love  ;  nay,  unite  her  to  thyself,  child  as  thou  art,  that 
I  might  have  a  daughter-in-law  who  hates  me  !  I  will 
make  thee  repent  of  thy  sport,  and  the  savour  of  thy 
marriage  bitter.  There  is  one  who  shall  chasten  this 
body  of  thine,  put  out  thy  torch  and  unstring  thy 
bow.  Not  till  she  has  plucked  forth  that  hair,  into 
which  so  oft  these  hands  have  smoothed  the  golden 
light,  and  sheared  away  thy  wings,  shall  I  feel  the  in- 
jury done  me  avenged."  And  with  this  she  hastened 
in  anger  from  the  doors. 

And  Ceres  and  Juno  met  her,  and  sought  to  know 
the  meaning  of  her  troubled  countenance.  "  Ye  come 
in  season,"  she  cried  ;  "  I  pray  you,  find  for  me  Psyche. 
It  must  needs  be  that  ye  have  heard  the  disgrace  of 
my  house."  And  they,  ignorant  of  what  was  done, 
would  have  soothed  her  anger,  saying,  "  What  fault, 
Mistress,  hath  thy  son  committed,  that  thou  wouldst 
destroy  the  girl  he  loves  ?  Knowest  thou  not  that  he 
is  now  of  age  ?  Because  he  wears  his  years  so  lightly 
must  he  seem  to  thee  ever  but  a  child  ?  Wilt  thou 
forever  thus  pry  into  the  pastimes  of  thy  son,  always 
accusing  his  wantonness,  and  blaming  in  him  those 
delicate  wiles  which  are  all  thine  own  ?  "  Thus,  in 
secret  fear  of  the  boy's  bow,  did  they  seek  to  please 
him  with  their  gracious  patronage.  But  Venus,  angry 
at  their  light  taking  of  her  wrongs,  turned  her  back 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  487 

upon  them,  and  with  hasty  steps  made  her  way  once 
more  to  the  sea. 

Meanwhile  Psyche,  tost  in  soul,  wandering  hither 
and  thither,  rested  not  night  or  day  in  the  pursuit  of 
her  husband,  desiring,  if  she  might  not  soothe  his  an- 
ger by  the  endearments  of  a  wife,  at  the  least  to  pro- 
pitiate him  with  the  prayers  of  a  handmaid.  And 
seeing  a  certain  temple  on  the  top  of  a  high  moun- 
tain, she  said,  "  Who  knows  whether  yonder  place  be 
not  the  abode  of  my  lord  ?  "  Thither,  therefore,  she 
turned  her  steps,  hastening  now  the  more  because  de- 
sire and  hope  pressed  her  on,  weary  as  she  was  with 
the  labors  of  the  way,  and  so,  painfully  measuring 
out  the  highest  ridges  of  the  mountain,  drew  near  to 
the  sacred  couches.  She  sees  ears  of  wheat,  in  heaps 
or  twisted  into  chaplets ;  ears  of  barley  also,  with 
sickles  and  all  the  instruments  of  harvest,  lying  there 
in  disorder,  thrown  at  random  from  the  hands  of  the 
laborers  in  the  great  heat.  These  she  curiously  sets 
apart,  one  by  one,  duly  ordering  them ;  for  she  said 
within  herself,  "I  may  not  neglect  the  shrines,  nor 
the  holy  service,  of  any  god  there  be,  but  must  rather 
win  by  supplication  the  kindly  mercy  of  them  all." 

And  Ceres  found  her  bending  sadly  upon  her  task, 
and  cried  aloud,  "  Alas,  Psyche  !  Venus,  in  the  f  uri- 
ousness  of  her  anger,  tracks  thy  footsteps  through  the 
world,  seeking  for  thee  to  pay  her  the  utmost  penalty ; 
and  thou,  thinking  of  anything  rather  than  thine  own 
safety,  hast  taken  on  thee  the  care  of  what  belongs  to 
me !  "  Then  Psyche  fell  down  at  her  feet,  and  sweep- 
ing the  floor  with  her  hair,  washing  the  footsteps  of  the 
goddess  in  her  tears,  besought  her  mercy,  with  many 
prayers :  "  By  the  gladdening  rites  of  harvest,  by 
the  lighted  lamps  and  mystic  marches  of  the  marriage 


488  APULEIUS 

and  mysterious  invention  of  thy  daughter  Proserpine,1 
and  by  all  beside  that  the  holy  place  of  Attica  veils 
in  silence,  minister,  I  pray  thee,  to  the  sorrowful  heart 
of  Psyche !  Suffer  me  to  hide  myself  but  for  a  few 
days  among  the  heaps  of  corn,  till  time  have  softened 
the  anger  of  the  goddess,  and  my  strength,  outworn 
in  my  long  travail,  be  recovered  by  a  little  rest." 

But  Ceres  answered  her,  "Truly  thy  tears  move 
me,  and  I  would  fain  help  thee ;  only  I  dare  not  incur 
the  ill-will  of  my  kinswoman.  Depart  hence  as  quickly 
as  may  be."  And  Psyche,  repelled  against  hope,  af- 
flicted now  with  twofold  sorrow,  making  her  way  back 
again,  beheld  among  the  half -lighted  woods  of  the  val- 
ley below  a  sanctuary  builded  with  cunning  art.  And 
that  she  might  lose  no  way  of  hope,  howsoever  doubt- 
ful, she  drew  near  to  the  sacred  doors.  She  sees  there 
gifts  of  price,  and  garments  fixed  upon  the  door-posts 
and  to  the  branches  of  the  trees,  wrought  with  letters 
of  gold  which  told  the  name  of  the  goddess  to  whom 
they  were  dedicated,  with  thanksgiving  for  that  she 
had  done.  So,  with  bent  knee  and  hands  laid  about 
the  glowing  altar,  she  prayed  saying,  "  Sister  and 
spouse  of  Jupiter !  be  thou  to  these  ray  desperate 
fortunes  Juno  the  Auspicious !  I  know  that  thou 
dost  willingly  help  those  in  travail  with  child ;  deliver 
me  from  the  peril  that  is  upon  me."  And  as  she 
prayed  thus,  Juno  in  the  majesty  of  her  godhead  was 
straightway  present,  and  answered,  "  Would  that  I 
might  incline  favorably  to  thee ;  but  against  the  will 
of  Venus,  whom  I  have  ever  loved  as  a  daughter,  I 
may  not,  for  very  shame,  grant  thy  prayer." 

And  Psyche,  dismayed  by  this  new  shipwreck  of 

1  The  reference  is  to  the  festival  celebrated  in  the  autumn  at  Elen- 
sis  in  Attica,  in  honor  of  Demeter  (Ceres)  and  Persephone  (Proserpina). 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  489 

her  hope,  communed  thus  with  herself,  "  Whither, 
from  the  midst  of  the  snares  that  beset  me,  shall  I 
take  my  way  once  more  ?  In  what  dark  solitude  shall 
I  hide  me  from  the  all-seeing  eye  of  Venus  ?  What  if 
I  put  on  at  length  a  man's  courage,  and  yielding  my- 
self unto  her  as  my  mistress,  soften  by  a  humility  not 
yet  too  late  the  fierceness  of  her  purpose  ?  Who 
knows  but  that  I  .may  find  him  also  whom  my  soul 
seeketh  after,  in  the  abode  of  his  mother?" 

And  Venus,  renouncing  all  earthly  aid  in  her  search, 
prepared  to  return  to  heaven.  She  ordered  the  chariot 
to  be  made  ready,  wrought  for  her  by  Vulcan  as  a 
marriage-gift,  with  a  cunning  of  hand  which  had  left 
his  work  so  much  the  richer  by  the  weight  of  gold  it 
lost  under  his  tool.  From  the  multitude  which  housed 
about  the  bed-chamber  of  their  mistress,  white  doves 
came  forth,  and  with  joyful  motions  bent  their  painted 
necks  beneath  the  yoke.  Behind  it,  with  playful  riot, 
the  sparrows  sped  onward,  and  other  birds  sweet  of 
song,  making  known  by  their  soft  notes  the  approach 
of  the  goddess.  Eagle  and  cruel  hawk  alarmed  not 
the  quireful  family  of  Venus.  And  the  clouds  broke 
away,  as  the  uttermost  ether  opened  to  receive  her, 
daughter  and  goddess,  with  great  joy. 

And  Venus  passed  straightway  to  the  house  of 
Jupiter  to  beg  from  him  the  service  of  Mercury,  the 
god  of  speech.  And  Jupiter  refused  not  her  prayer. 
And  Venus  and  Mercury  descended  from  heaven  to- 
gether ;  and  as  they  went,  the  former  said  to  the  hit- 
ter, "  Thou  knowest,  my  brother  of  Arcady,  that  never 
at  any  time  have  I  done  anything  without  thy  help ; 
for  how  long  time,  moreover,  I  have  sought  a  certain 
maiden  in  vain.  And  now  nought  remains  but  that, 
by  thy  heraldry,  I  proclaim  a  reward  for  whomsoever 


490  APULEIUS 

shall  find  her.  Do  thou  my  bidding  quickly."  And 
therewith  she  conveyed  to  him  a  little  scrip,  in  the 
which  was  written  the  name  of  Psyche,  with  other 
things  ;  and  so  returned  home. 

And  Mercury  failed  not  in  his  office ;  but  departing 
into  all  lands,  proclaimed  that  whosoever  delivered  up 
to  Venus  the  fugitive  girl,  should  receive  from  herself 
seven  kisses  —  one  thereof  full  of  the  inmost  honey 
of  her  throat.  With  that  the  doubt  of  Psyche  was 
ended.  And  now,  as  she  came  near  to  the  doors  of 
Venus,  one  of  the  household,  whose  name  was  Use- 
and-Wont,  ran  out  to  her  crying,  "  Hast  thou  learned, 
Wicked  Maid !  now  at  last !  that  thou  hast  a  mis- 
tress ?  "  and  seizing  her  roughly  by  the  hair,  drew  her 
into  the  presence  of  Venus.  And  when  Venus  saw 
her,  she  cried  out,  saying,  "  Thou  hast  deigned,  then, 
to  make  thy  salutations  to  thy  mother-in-law.  Now 
will  I  in  turn  treat  thee  as  becometh  a  dutiful  daugh- 
ter-in-law." 

And  she  took  barley  and  millet  and  poppy-seed, 
every  kind  of  grain  and  seed,  and  mixed  them  to- 
gether, and  laughed,  and  said  to  her :  "  Methinks  so 
plain  a  maiden  can  earn  lovers  only  by  industrious 
ministry :  now  will  I  also  make  trial  of  thy  service. 
Sort  me  this  heap  of  seed,  the  one  kind  from  the 
others,  grain  by  grain  ;  and  get  thy  task  done  before 
the  evening."  And  Psyche,  stunned  by  the  cruelty 
of  her  bidding,  was  silent,  and  moved  not  her  hand  to 
the  inextricable  heap.  And  there  came  forth  a  little 
ant,  which  had  understanding  of  the  difficulty  of  her 
task,  and  took  pity  upon  the  consort  of  the  god  of 
Love ;  and  he  ran  deftly  hither  and  thither,  and  called 
together  the  whole  army  of  his  fellows.  "  Have  pity," 
he  cried,  "nimble  scholars  of  the  Earth,  Mother  of 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  491 

all  things !  —  have  pity  upon  the  wife  of  Love,  and 
hasten  to  help  her  in  her  perilous  effort."  Then,  one 
upon  the  other,  the  hosts  of  the  insect  people  hurried 
together ;  and  they  sorted  asunder  the  whole  heap  of 
seed,  separating  every  grain  after  its  kind,  and  so  de- 
parted quickly  out  of  sight. 

And  at  nightfall  Venus  returned,  and  seeing  that 
task  finished  with  so  wonderful  diligence,  she  cried, 
"  The  work  is  not  thine,  thou  naughty  maid,  but  his 
in  whose  eyes  thou  hast  found  favor."  And  call- 
ing her  again  in  the  morning,  "  See  now  the  grove," 
she  said,  "  beyond  yonder  torrent.  Certain  sheep 
feed  there,  whose  fleeces  shine  with  gold.  Fetch  me 
straightway  a  lock  of  that  precious  stuff,  having  got- 
ten it  as  thou  mayst." 

And  Psyche  went  forth  willingly,  not  to  obey  the 
command  of  Venus,  but  even  to  seek  a  rest  from  her 
labor  in  the  depths  of  the  river.  But  from  the  river, 
the  green  reed,  lowly  mother  of  music,  spake  to  her : 
"  O  Psyche !  pollute  not  these  waters  by  self-destruc- 
tion, nor  approach  that  terrible  flock  ;  for,  as  the  heat 
groweth,  they  wax  fierce.  Lie  down  under  yon  plane- 
tree,  till  the  quiet  of  the  river's  breath  have  soothed 
them.  Thereafter  thou  mayst  shake  down  the  fleecy 
gold  from  the  trees  of  the  grove,  for  it  holdeth  by  the 
leaves." 

And  Psyche,  instructed  thus  by  the  simple  reed,  in 
the  humanity  of  its  heart,  filled  her  bosom  with  the 
soft  golden  stuff,  and  returned  to  Venus.  But  the 
goddess  smiled  bitterly,  and  said  to  her,  "  Well  know 
I  who  was  the  author  of  this  thing  also.  I  will  make 
further  trial  of  thy  discretion,  and  the  boldness  of  thy 
heart.  Seest  thou  the  utmost  peak  of  yonder  steep 
mountain  ?  The  dark  stream  which  flows  down  thence 


492  APULEIUS 

waters  the  Stygian  fields,  and  swells  the  flood  of  Cocy- 
tus.  Bring  me  now,  in  this  little  urn,  a  draught  from 
its  innermost  source."  And  therewith  she  put  into 
her  hands  a  vessel  of  wrought  crystal. 

And  Psyche  set  forth  in  haste  on  her  way  to  the 
mountain,  looking  there  at  last  to  find  the  end  of  her 
hapless  life.  But  when  she  came  to  the  region  which 
borders  on  the  cliff  that  was  showed  to  her,  she  under- 
stood the  deadly  nature  of  her  task.  From  a  great 
rock,  steep  and  slippery,  a  horrible  river  of  water 
poured  forth,  falling  straightway  by  a  channel  ex- 
ceeding narrow  into  the  unseen  gulf  below.  And  lo  ! 
creeping  from  the  rocks  on  either  hand,  angry  ser- 
pents, with  their  long  necks  and  sleepless  eyes.  The 
very  waters  found  a  voice  and  bade  her  depart,  in 
smothered  cries  of,  Depart  hence !  and,  What  doest 
thou  here  ?  Look  around  thee !  and  Destruction  is 
upon  thee !  And  then  sense  left  her,  in  the  immensity 
of  her  peril,  as  one  changed  to  stone. 

Yet  not  even  then  did  the  distress  of  this  innocent 
soul  escape  the  steady  eye  of  a  gentle  providence. 
For  the  bird  of  Jupiter  spread  his  wings  and  took 
flight  to  her,  and  asked  her,  "  Didst  thou  think,  simple 
one,  even  thou !  that  thou  couldst  steal  one  drop  of 
that  relentless  stream,  the  holy  river  of  Styx,  terrible 
even  to  the  gods?  But  give  me  thine  urn."  And 
the  bird  took  the  urn,  and  filled  it  at  the  source,  and 
returned  to  her  quickly  from  among  the  teeth  of  the 
serpents,  bringing  with  him  of  the  waters,  all  unwill- 
ing —  nay !  warning  him  to  depart  away  and  not 
molest  them. 

And  she,  receiving  the  urn  with  great  joy,  ran  back 
quickly  that  she  might  deliver  it  to  Venus,  and  yet 
again  satisfied  not  the  angry  goddess.  "  My  child  !  " 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  493 

she  said,  "  in  this  one  thing  further  must  thou  serve 
me.  Take  now  this  tiny  casket,  and  get  thee  down 
even  unto  hell,  and  deliver  it  to  Proserpine.  Tell  her 
that  Venus  would  have  of  her  beauty  so  much  at  least 
as  may  suffice  for  but  one  day's  use,  that  beauty  she 
possessed  erewhile  being  forworn  and  spoiled,  through 
her  tendance  upon  the  sick-bed  of  her  son  ;  and  be  not 
slow  in  returning." 

And  Psyche  perceived  there  the  last  ebbing  of  her 
fortune  —  that  she  was  now  thrust  openly  upon  death, 
who  must  go  down,  of  her  own  motion,  to  Hades  and 
the  Shades.  And  straightway  she  climbed  to  the  top 
of  an  exceeding  high  tower,  thinking  within  herself, 
"  I  will  cast  myself  down  thence :  so  shall  I  descend 
most  quickly  into  the  kingdom  of  the  dead."  And 
the  tower  again  broke  forth  into  speech  :  "  Wretched 
Maid  !  Wretched  Maid  !  Wilt  thou  destroy  thyself  ? 
If  the  breath  quit  thy  body,  then  wilt  thou  indeed  go 
down  into  Hades,  but  by  no  means  return  hither. 
Listen  to  me.  Among  the  pathless  wilds  not  far  from 
this  place  lies  a  certain  mountain,  and  therein  one  of 
hell's  vent-holes.  Through  the  breach  a  rough  way 
lies  open,  following  which  thou  wilt  come,  by  straight 
course,  to  the  castle  of  Orcus.  And  thou  must  not  go 
empty-handed.  Take  in  each  hand  a  morsel  of  barley- 
bread,  soaked  in  hydromel :  and  in  thy  mouth  two 
pieces  of  money.  And  when  thou  shalt  be  now  well 
onward  in  the  way  of  death,  then  wilt  thou  overtake 
a  lame  ass  laden  with  wood,  and  a  lame  driver,  who 
will  pray  thee  reach  him  certain  cords  to  fasten  the 
burden  which  is  falling  from  the  ass  ;  but  be  thou 
cautious  to  pass  on  in  silence.  And  soon  as  thou 
comest  to  the  river  of  the  dead,  Charon,  in  that  crazy 
bark  he  hath,  will  put  thee  over  upon  the  further  side. 


494  APULEIUS 

There  is  greed  even  among  the  dead ;  and  thou  shalt 
deliver  to  him,  for  the  ferrying,  one  of  those  two 
pieces  of  money,  in  such  wise  that  he  take  it  with  his 
hand  from  between  thy  lips.  And  as  thou  passest 
over  the  stream,  a  dead  old  man,  rising  on  the  water, 
will  put  up  to  thee  his  mouldering  hands,  and  pray 
thee  draw  him  into  the  ferry-boat.  But  beware  thou 
yield  not  to  unlawful  pity. 

"  When  thou  shalt  be  come  over,  and  art  upon  the 
causeway,  certain  aged  women,  spinning,  will  cry  to 
thee  to  lend  thy  hand  to  their  work ;  and  beware 
again  that  thou  take  no  part  therein ;  for  this  also  is 
the  snare  of  Venus,  whereby  she  would  cause  thee  to 
cast  away  one  at  least  of  those  cakes  thou  bearest  in 
thy  hands.  And  think  not  that  a  slight  matter ;  for 
the  loss  of  either  one  of  them  will  be  to  thee  the  losing 
of  the  light  of  day.  For  a  watch-dog  exceeding  fierce 
lies  ever  before  the  threshold  of  that  lonely  house  of 
Proserpine.  Close  his  mouth  with  one  of  thy  cakes  ; 
so  shalt  thou  pass  by  him,  and  enter  straightway  into 
the  presence  of  Proserpine  herself.  Then  do  thou 
deliver  thy  message,  and  taking  what  she  shall  give 
thee,  return  back  again  ;  offering  to  the  watch-dog  the 
other  cake,  and  to  the  ferryman  that  other  piece  of 
money  thou  hast  in  thy  mouth.  After  this  manner 
mayst  thou  return  again  beneath  the  stars.  But 
withal,  I  charge  thee,  think  not  to  look  into,  nor  open, 
the  caskest  thou  bearest,  with  that  treasure  of  the 
beauty  of  the  divine  countenance  hidden  therein." 

So  spake  the  stones  of  the  tower ;  and  Psyche  de- 
layed not,  but  proceeding  diligently  after  the  manner 
enjoined,  entered  into  the  house  of  Proserpine,  at 
whose  feet  she  sat  down  humbly,  and  would  neither 
the  delicate  couch  nor  that  divine  food  the  goddess 


CUPID  AND  PSYCHE  495 

offered  her,  but  did  straightway  the  business  of  Venus. 
And  Proserpine  filled  the  casket  secretly,  and  shut  the 
lid,  and  delivered  it  to  Psyche,  who  fled  therewith 
from  Hades  with  new  strength.  But  coming  back 
into  the  light  of  day,  even  as  she  hasted  now  to  the 
ending  of  her  service,  she  was  seized  by  a  rash  curi- 
osity. "  Lo !  now,"  she  said  within  herself,  "  my 
simpleness !  who  bearing  in  my  hands  the  divine  love- 
liness, heed  not  to  touch  myself  with  a  particle  at  least 
therefrom,  that  I  may  please  the  more,  by  the  favor  of 
it,  my  fair  one,  by  beloved."  Even  as  she  spoke,  she 
lifted  the  lid ;  and  behold !  within,  neither  beauty,  nor 
anything  beside,  save  sleep  only,  the  sleep  of  the  dead, 
which  took  hold  upon  her,  filling  all  her  members  with 
its  drowsy  vapor,  so  that  she  lay  down  in  the  way  and 
moved  not,  as  in  the  slumber  of  death. 

And  Cupid  being  healed  of  his  wound,  because  he 
would  endure  no  longer  the  absence  of  her  he  loved, 
gliding  through  the  narrow  window  of  the  chamber 
wherein  he  was  holden,  his  pinions  being  now  repaired 
by  a  little  rest,  fled  forth  swiftly  upon  them,  and  com- 
ing to  the  place  where  Psyche  was,  shook  that  sleep 
away  from  her,  and  set  him  in  his  prison  again,  awak- 
ing her  with  the  innocent  point  of  his  arrow.  "  Lo ! 
thine  old  error  again,"  he  said,  "  which  had  like  once 
more  to  have  destroyed  thee !  But  do  thou  now  what 
is  lacking  of  the  command  of  my  mother:  the  rest 
shall  be  my  care."  With  these  words,  the  lover  rose 
upon  the  air ;  and  being  consumed  inwardly  with  the 
greatness  of  his  love,  penetrated  with  vehement  wing 
*.ito  the  highest  place  of  heaven,  to  lay  his  cause  be- 
fore the  father  of  the  gods.  And  the  father  of  the  gods 
took  his  hand  in  his,  and  kissed  his  face,  and  said  to 
him,  "  At  no  time,  my  son,  hast  thou  regarded  me  with 


496  APULEIUS 

due  honor.  Often  hast  thou  vexed  my  bosom,  wherein 
lies  the  disposition  of  the  stars,  with  those  busy  darts 
of  thine.  Nevertheless,  because  thou  hast  grown  up 
between  these  mine  hands,  I  will  accomplish  thy  de- 
sire." And  straightway  he  bade  Mercury  call  the 
gods  together ;  and,  the  council-chamber  being  filled, 
sitting  upon  a  high  throne,  "  Ye  gods,"  he  said,  "  all 
ye  whose  names  are  in  the  white  book  of  the  Muses, 
ye  know  yonder  lad.  It  seems  good  to  me  that  his 
youthful  heats  should  by  some  means  be  restrained. 
And  that  all  occasion  may  be  taken  from  him,  I  would 
even  confine  him  in  the  bonds  of  marriage.  He  has 
chosen  and  embraced  a  mortal  maiden.  Let  him  have 
fruit  of  his  love,  and  possess  her  forever." 

Thereupon  he  bade  Mercury  produce  Psyche  in 
heaven ;  and  holding  out  to  her  his  ambrosial  cup, 
*'  Take  it,"  he  said,  "  and  live  forever ;  nor  shall  Cu- 
pid ever  depart  from  thee."  And  the  gods  sat  down 
together  to  the  marriage-feast.  On  the  first  couch 
lay  the  bridegroom,  and  Psyche  in  his  bosom.  His 
rustic  serving-boy  bare  the  wine  to  Jupiter ;  and  Bac- 
chus to  the  rest.  The  Seasons  crimsoned  all  things 
with  their  roses.  Apollo  sang  to  the  lyre,  while  a 
little  Pan  prattled  on  his  reeds,  and  Venus  danced 
very  sweetly  to  the  soft  music.  Thus  —  with  due 
rites  —  did  Psyche  pass  into  the  power  of  Cupid  ; 
and  from  them  was  born  the  daughter  whom  men  call 
Voluptas. 

WAITER  PATER,  in  Marius  the  Epicurean. 


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